3tf 


IN  MEMORY  OF 
WILLIAM  C.  HABBERLEY 


JHedtatit* 


"  Oy  thou  hast  been  a  most  prodigious  comet  I  " 

(The  White  Devil) 


Metfyznte 


or 


Life  as  it  Should  Be: 

Being  Divers  Precious  Episodes 
In  the  Life  of  a  Naughty  Nonpareille 

A  Farce  in  Filigree 


By  GELETT  BURGESS 

Author  of  "Vivette,"  "Are  You  a  Bromide  ?'J 
"The  Maxims  of  Methuselah,"  &c. 


With  Illustrations  by  the  Author 


FREDERICK   A.  STOKES   COMPANY 
NEW   YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1901,  1909 
By  THE  Ess  Ess  PUBLISHING  Co. 

COPYRIGHT,  1909 
BY  GELETT  BURGESS 


•IFT 


October,  1909 


THE    UNIVERSITY    PRESS,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


TO    THE   WHILOM 

ASSOCIATE    EDITOR    OF 

"PHYLLIDA" 

AND 

"LE    PETIT   JOURNAL    DES    REFUSfiES" 
FELLOW   ENTHUSIAST   AND    PARTNER    IN 
MANY    ACTS    OF    UNREGRETTED    FOLLY 

CRITIC  —  ARTIST  —  FRIEND 

THIS   ABANDONED    NARRATIVE 

IS   CORDIALLY    DEDICATED 


PORTER  GARNETT,  ESQUIRE, 


IF  I  adopt  the  old-world  manner  informally  inscrib 
ing  to  you  this  last  fantastic  product  of  my  mad-witted 
endeavor,  and  build  a  needless  portico  upon  that  monstrous 
Temple  of  Frivolity  which  you  have  entered  so  often 
with  me  and  which  I  have  been  overlong  erecting,  you 
will,  I  am  sure,  count  it  as  of  a  piece  with  my  customary 
impertinence,  and  smile  good-naturedly  enough  at  my 
gambado.  Were  I  to  push  this  inscription  home  to 
you  I  could,  no  doubt,  justify  the  liberty  I  now  take 
by  acclaiming  you  as  an  enthusiastic  co-laborer  in  many 
an  act  of  desperate  and  inconsequent  trifling.  It  is  more 
than  likely,  however,  you  will  be  by  way  of  accusing  me 
of  lagging  and  shirking,  swear  that  the  metropolis  has 
dried  a  mind  that  the  wind  from  the  Pacific  urged  to 
action ;  that,  in  short,  New  York  has  tamed  me.  For 
this  I  have  but  to  plead  too  guilty.  My  Lady  Mechante 
has  all  but  died  of  inanition.  This  seven  years  she  has 
fainted  at  the  window  of  my  soul,  looking  in  vain  for  a 
rescuer.  And  yet,  this  very  effete  coast  first  gave  her 


Vll 


LADT   MECHANTE 


birth ;  she  is  of  the  Atlantic,  which  should  cause  you 
to  revise  your  theories. 

I  prefer,  though,  to  rest  upon  your  indulgent  approval 
of  that  same  lady,  my  heroine,  and  your  appreciation  of 
my  efforts  to  make  her  what  she  should  be  to  satisfy 
a  certain  whim  we  have  in  common.  You  have  been 
complaisant  enough  with  her  errantries  to  dub  her 
Nonparella,  and  to  give  her  your  guaranty  of  a  pre 
cious,  if  a  faint  and  wan  immortality.  Alas,  there 
shall  be  few  who  are  minded  to  the  same  opinion  !  He 
must  wear  rare  spectacles,  nowadays,  who  does  not  see 
categories  wherever  he  looks,  and  this  essay  is  too  per 
sonal  to  be  classed  with  any  of  the  schools.  (Most 
humbly  do  I  wear  my  garland  of  conceit.} 

There  is,  however,  a  third  consideration  which  de 
mands  your  name  upon  this  page.  Tou  are,  happily  for 
me,  of  my  caste.  We  possess  the  same  terminology;  we 
talk  without  speaking ;  we  use  the  same  shrugs  and  smiles. 
But  this  letter  is  to  go  forth  to  others ;  let  it  stand, 
therefore,  as  our  cartel  to  the  world.  We  have  stood 
for  Nonsense  per  se,  you  and  I ;  we  have  named  it  the 
Fourth  Dimension  of  Literature.  We  have  found  it 
akin  to  music  in  its  subtle,  esoteric  reactions.  We  have, 
so  far,  practised  it  for  itself — for  a  mere  sensuous 
delight  in  an  occult  Style.  But  of  the  higher  Nonsense, 
what  ?  Is  it  debased  by  the  adulteration  of  Satire  and 
Parody  ?  Faith,  we  have  been  recusant,  you  and  I, 
who  have  been  for  an  unmixed  art.  Now,  if  I  back 
slide,  if  I  step  on  some  toes  a-purpose,  will  you  follow 


Vlll 


DEDICATORY   LETTER 


me 


For  I  started  with  you,  blithely,  without  a  desti 
nation^  and  ended  galloping  into  town.  Perhaps  you,  of 
all  the  world^  are  still  alone.  But  I  must  go  where  my 
steed  carries  me. 

Nevertheless,  you  know  my  distinction  between  Fancy 
and  Imagination,  quote  your  Poe  as  you  like  —  well^  I 
am  in  such  wise  for  Fancy,  having  had  my  fling  with 
Experience.  No  doubt  it  is  but  to  reconcile  my  con 
science,  in  despair  of  Chestertons  who  achieve  all  my 
abandon  and  more  than  my  theses ;  yet  still  the  chance 
to  be  sui  generis  must  be  taken,  since  my  Lady  Mechante 
has  found  favor  in  the  sight  of  a  publisher.  Is  the  thing 
worth  doing?  Shall  a  smile  suffice  for  my  reward?  I 
am  sure  only  of  yours  ! 

I  shoot  my  arrow  into  the  air,  but  I  shall  find  it,  at 
last,  in  the  heart  of  a  friend.  For  we  are  of  the  gar 
goyle's  kin,  you  and  I.  We  know  that  there  is  a  re 
verse  of  beauty,  not  ugliness,  which  is  the  inverse.  We 
have  studied  its  laws,  which  few  have  known  since  the 
spirit  of  wonder  died  from  men.  And  as  with  art,  so 
with  literature ;  men  can  stand  on  their  heads,  but  they 
may  not  get  through  the  looking-glass.  Let's  draw 
nearer  modern  music,  perhaps,  and  try  in  some  such 
way  for  emotions,  though  they  be  thin  and  frail. 

And  if  I  ape  the  Elizabethans,  past  masters,  for  so 
small,  so  vapid  a  purpose,  it  is  but  to  strive  for  the 
impossibility  of  a  freedom  that  lasted  while  books  were 
few.  A  word  was  slang  to-day,  and  to-morrow,  lo,  it 
was  literature  !  No  patented  phrases,  no  balanced 

[ix] 


LADT  MECHANTE 


periods,  and  all  form  inchoate  !  What  V  left  to  do  ? 
Everything,  till  our  Academy  comes  in  to  decree  the 
murder  of  our  mother-tongue  —  and  so,  have  at  it,  and 
strive  once  more,  even  though  one  is  caught  striving. 
Better  -precious  than  patterned,  say  I.  What 's  a  sen 
tence  to  be  afraid  of?  If  all  the  squares,  triangles,  and 
circles  are  invented,  I '//  try  an  irregular  polygon  !  Full 
well  you  know  the  rules  of  the  game  when  I  play  with 
my  words. 

So  it  was  you  who  gave  me  a  hoist  to  the  saddle  and 
a  flick  at  the  flank  of  my  steed;  it  was  you  who,  in  your 
sober  fashion  —  creature  of  fierce  extremes  —  bade  me 
God-speed  with  the  stirrup  cup.  Tou  have  watched 
me  break  my  neck  before ;  haply  you  '//  be  at  the  hurdle 
to  help  me  up.  At  least,  technician,  purist,  academe 
though  you  be,  you  are  also  as  mad  as  I,  my  friend,  as 
mad  as  jade  and  Ho-ku  ;  and  I  trust  you  to  grin  at 
my  raised  airs  and  watch  my  high  manege  until  my 
fall.  For  you,  then,  my  curvet  and  capriole,  my  volt, 
demi-volt,  caracole,  and  curvet.  I  ride  my  smock- 
rampant  with  bridle  slack! 

GELETT  BURGESS. 
NEW  YORK,  APRIL  i 


ADVERTISEMENr 


To  the  Indulgent  Reader 

SUCH  helter-skelter  rigamarole  as  this  is  a  pudding  that 
needs  a  rare  sauce  of  indulgence  to  drench  its  wild  taste ; 
though  if  you  will,  it  should  still  be  eaten  hot  from  the 
spoon.  These  be  parlous  days  for  the  stylist  when  a  new- 
shaped  phrase  or  a  crooked  word  makes  the  girls  jump  a 
page,  hoping  to  light  on  sober  verity.  Now,  though  I  writ 
this  with  my  left  hand  while  my  wits  were  astray  over  the 
candle,  though  my  Lady  have  no  soul  and  my  book  no 
manners,  you  must  not  think  Fancy  may  not  have  her  way, 
too,  in  this  arid  time,  if  she  but  knock  on  the  right  door. 
One  may  create  as  well  as  construct,  and  there  are  bricks 
not  made  of  experience.  Nor  do  such  airy  castles  always 
perish  in  the  night. 

So,  though  all  this  happened  before  Holywell  Street  fed 
the  Strand  with  its  trickling  stream  of  antiquity,  ere  San 
Francisco  became  unpicturesque  with  iron  frames,  while  yet 
the  Boston  Symphony  rehearsed  in  the  old  Music  Hall,  and 
before  the  Metropolitan  tower  had  carried  New  York's 
exclamatory  note  in  architecture  uptown  —  Romance  does 
not  die,  and  there  is  still  material  for  Fancy.  My  tale  needs 
not  verisimilitude  to  sustain  its  life ;  let  my  grandchildren 
bear  me  out. 

[xi] 


ADFER  TISEMENT 


If  you  are  for  a  fiction  plugged  with  propriety,  sobriety, 
and  the  Magazine  virtues,  with  sincerity,  conviction,  and  all 
that,  go  soak  in  the  monthlies  !  the  periodical  orthodoxy 
of  the  day.  But  if  you  have  antennae,  if  you  are  for  the 
far  ends  of  the  spectrum,  if  you  can  count  corpuscles,  I  cry 
you  mercy  when  you  see  where  abandon  may  go,  withal, 
and  how  a  teaspoonful  of  brains  might  butter  this  fragile 
custard.  Some  quodling  will  do  it  yet,  I  dare  say,  and  to 
him  Lady  Mechante  holds  out  the  delicate  tip  of  her  pink 
little  finger !  Well,  she  seemed  a  most  prodigious  comet 
as  I  let  her  in,  but  even  this  impertinent  tale  has  had  its 
face  slapped  for  its  laggard  blood.  She  bade  me  drink  her 
adjectives,  and  she  turned  my  sentences  downsideup,  but 
even  then  the  story  fell  into  the  rut  seven  times  too  often. 
Never  mind,  here  's  for  the  diversion,  now:  it  may  not  run 
away  with  you,  but  it  may  point  a  sermon  for  some  bigger 
fool  than  I. 


[xii] 


BOOK  I.    LONDON 
THE    CAD    AND    THE    COUNTESS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    A  Burglar's  Widow 3 

II.    A  Sentimental  Felon 10 

III.  The  Cadger  of  Chelsea 22 

IV.  The  Platonist 31 

V.    Business  is  Business 37 

VI.    A  Scandal  in  Sussex  Square 43 

BOOK    II.     SAN    FRANCISCO 
THE   WALKING  PEANUT 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    The  Peanut  Shell      . 53 

II.    No.  7,  Key  Court 62 

III.  Mr.  Braghampton  Entertains 69 

IV.  A  Lunch  at  Campi's 78 

V.    The  Hypnotic  Club 89 

VI.    The  Countess  Rouge 100 

VII.    The  League  of  Dreams 115 

VIII.    The  Prehistoric  Parade 120 

IX.    Reductio  ad  Absurdam 129 


CONTENTS 


BOOK    III.      BOSTON 
THE  CULT  OF   MARS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    A  Symphony  Rehearsal  .......  147 

II.    The  Queen  of  Boston    .......  155 

III.  Cat  Park's  Serio-Comic        ......  163 

IV.  A  Flirtation  in  Copley  Square   .....  175 
V.    Miss  Mischief's  Mediumship     .....  183 

VI.    Entr'acte   ...........  195 

VII.    The  Manifestation  of  Phryko   .....  203 

VIII.    The  Interplanetary  Plan       .      .      :      .      .      .  214 

IX.    The  Book  of  Bosh    ........  227 

X.    The  Temple  of  Mars     .......  242 


XI.    Bounder's  Apotheosis 


252 


BOOK    IV.      NEW    YORK 

THE   CAVE    MAN 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    The  Fairy  of  the  Flatiron    ......  267 

II.    Smagg's  Florescence        .......  280 

III.  Highbrow  Hall     .........  290 

IV.  Blue  Blood  and  Red        .......  307 

V.    A    Sulphite  in  Disguise  .......  316 

VI.    The  Best  Best  Seller       .......  334 

VII.    The  Beast  of  New  York      ......  342 

VIII.    Smagg  in  Apogee       ........  357 

IX.    New  Worlds  for  Old      .......  379 

[xiv  ] 


iltst  of  <§argartsms 


PAGE 


In  which  a  perfect  coal-heaver  meets  with  his  Destiny 

in  the  shape  of  the  Genius  of  the  Book       .   Frontispiece 

Showing  how  our  Heroine  became  deservedly  popu 
lar  in  London  without  succeeding  in  her  Quest  .  19 

Portrait  of  the  Walking  Peanut  discovering  his  matu-  * 
tinal  Reward rr 

View  of  the  Assault  upon  the  Peanut  Shell  on  Rus 
sian  Hill  and  the  heroic  Defense  of  an  amateur 
Shakespeare  

The  Gentleman  in  the  mangy  Bath  Robe  descends 
into  Cat  Park  by  an  unaccustomed  Approach 

The  Apotheosis  of  the  Minor  Priest  of  the  Seven- 
Headed  Salamander  at  the  Temple  of  Mars  .  . 

Wherein  the  Wild  Beast  of  New  York  becomes  for 
the  first  time  Articulate 

Scene  during  the  Peroration  of  the  converted  Cave 
Man  just  prior  to  the  Birth  of  his  New  World  . 


169 


261 


353 


[xv] 


THE    CAD 
AND    THE    COUNTESS 

What  ys  here  ?     Poetic  fury  and  historic  storms  ! 

(Volpone  ;  or,  The  Fox. ) 


Chapter 


A    BURGLAR'S    WIDOW 

And  by  gadslid,  I  scorn  it,  I,  so  I  do,  to  be  a  consort  for  every 

humdrum  ;  bang  'hem,  scroyles  ! 

(Every  Man  in  his  Humour.) 

T  the  age  of  three-and-twenty,  Mrs.  Flori- 
zelle  Gaillarde  found,  among  her  charms  and 
tokens,  item  :  a  flamboyant  youth  which  had 
at  last  got  its  second  wind  in  the  rather 
splendid  pace  she  had  set  for  herself,  and,  to 
this,  a  nimble  wit  sharpened  to  a  wire  edge 
by  alternate  poverty  and  wealth  ;  also  a  footing  in  the  beau 
monde  won  by  finesse,  the  attainment  of  which  scarce  repaid 
her  for  the  struggle.  She  had,  moreover,  a  sense  of  the 
Relative  Importance  of  Things  by  which  she  was  able  to 
classify  her  desires  and  to  lay  a  tiny  curly  finger  upon  her 
nearest  wish.  First,  then,  she  touched  Romance  ;  for, 
despite  her  variations  of  social  altitude,  neither  Time  nor 
Fortune  had  yet  brought  to  her  door  an  Interesting  Man. 

The  experience  of  this  ruddy-haired  whimsically-smiling 
devillette  with  the  arched  eyebrows  had  been  various.  A 
double  dose  of  matrimony  had  not  tamed  her;  her  mind 
and  her  heart  were  still  virgin.  Her  first  spouse  was  a 
certain  Baron  of  Bayswater,  who  had  achieved  importance 
in  the  later  Victorian  Beerage  for  his  movement  towards 
the  abolition  of  the  British  barmaid.  It  need  hardly  be 
added  that  he  was  unpopular,  although  his  Lady  suffered 

[3] 


LADY   M EC H ANTE 


no  loss  of  prestige.  Even  the  hospitals  he  had  founded 
repudiated  him.  Ostracized  by  the  hideous  violence  he  had 
done  to  public  opinion,  he  died  soon  afterward,  and  his 
widow  followed  him  into  obscurity  on  account  of  her 
romantic  attachment  for  Leopold  Gaillarde,  a  picturesque 
burglar  whose  fingers  were  better  developed  than  his  brain. 

While  her  second  husband  had  lived,  life  had  gone,  in 
a  way,  merrily  enough,  for  his  profession  (he  was  a  swell 
"  cracksman  "  of  acknowledged  ability)  had  savored  their 
nights  with  the  truths  that  are  stranger  than  fiction  ;  but 
even  then  she  was  by  no  means  satisfied.  No  matter  how 
picturesque  a  man's  trade  may  be,  if  he  is  not  of  the  fibre 
of  fancy,  he  grows  dulled  sooner  or  later  to  the  beautiful 
opportunities  of  his  vocation,  and  inevitably  he  gets  to 
taking  his  emotions  cavalierly.  Leopold  did  his  poor 
best  to  satisfy  his  wife's  idealism,  but  he  was  internally 
cursed  with  the  fatal  quality  of  "  meaning  well."  Though 
after  the  honeymoon  he  had  given  himself  up  to  her 
empire,  she  had  never  really  succeeded  in  scanning  any 
poetical  quality  into  the  bald  prose  of  his  profession. 
Such  things  must  come  intuitively,  and  Leopold  was  a 
hopeless  Uitlander  to  the  fate-marked  aristocracy  of  pure 
Romance. 

He  was  a  clever  burglar,  as  burglars  go,  but  he  had  more 
of  the  artisan  than  of  the  artist  in  him.  His  fingers  were 
facile,  but  his  fancy  faint.  He  dabbled  in  wee  sensations ; 
he  was  quick  enough  at  a  hint,  but  slow  to  see  for  him 
self,  at  a  din  cTceil,  what  risks  were  raw,  what  ripe,  what 
rotten. 

Mrs.  Gaillarde,  who  had  an  infinite  capacity  for  being 
bored  and  a  still  greater  facility  for  rescuing  herself  from 
such  dilemmas,  had  not  poisoned  Leopold,  however  near 

[4] 


A   BURGLAR'S    WIDOW 


she  may  have  come  to  it  in  that  first  year  after  marriage 
which  is  said  to  be  a  purgatory  of  marital  adjustments. 
She  had  never  adjusted  herself;  the  process  was  rendered 
unnecessary  by  Leopold's  encounter  with  a  policeman 
named  Slithery,  who  emptied  four  shots  into  the  burglar's 
stomach.  Leopold  never  digested  the  pellets,  and,  four 
days  afterward,  Mrs.  Gaillarde  was  a  widow.  She  bobbed 
up  merrily  at  Madame  Qui-Vive's,  under  her  previous  title, 
and  said  nothing  of  her  second  experience  in  matrimony. 

After  his  death,  Florizelle,  who  in  her  salad  days  before 
the  mesalliance,  had  been  a  regularly  apprenticed  debutante 
in  the  service  of  Madame  Qui-Vive,  was  enabled,  thanks  to 
her  departed  husband's  industry,  to  take  up  again  her  card- 
case  and  lorgnette,  brougham  and  liveries,  and  enter  London 
society  through  the  Gate  of  Affluence  as  a  sort  of  journeyman 
mondaine  to  practice  the  mechanics  of  high-life  amenities. 

The  assumption  of  the  old-new  routine,  however,  entailed 
many  onerous  punctilios  that  chafed  her  more  mature  en 
thusiasm.  The  receptions  to  which  she  was  invited  were 
dull,  the  dinners  homicidal.  She  found  that  her  associates 
played  at  the  game  of  Society  now  with  the  stolidity  of 
whist  fiends  competing  for  points  and  prizes  rather  than 
with  any  true  sporting  instinct.  In  short,  she  had  returned 
to  her  world  to  find  one  dimension  gone.  Her  sphere  had 
become  a  mere  circle,  with  longitude  and  latitude,  but 
without  depths  of  possibility. 

She  might  have  escaped,  it  is  true,  by  staying  away  from 
such  mummeries  had  she  not  unwittingly  fascinated  a  dozen 
or  so  frock-coats,  who,  before  she  was  aware  of  the  inva 
sion,  came  a-vaulting  the  walls  of  her  Mayfair  Street 
privacy  and  trampled  the  garden  of  her  domestic  life. 
They  would  not  come  on  her  u  days,"  but  persisted  in 

[5] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


dropping  into  her  seclusion  to  bore  her  one  by  one.  It 
was  useless  to  forbid  them  entrance ;  they  lay  in  wait  for 
her  at  every  corner.  The  worst  of  it  all  was,  that  what 
agile  wits  there  were  among  them  were  frightened  away 
by  this  siege,  and  Florizelle  was  encompassed  by  a  retinue 
of  slow-minded  retainers  whom  it  was  impossible  to  dis 
courage.  Her  back  yard  was  littered  with  the  bouquets 
that  she  flung  with  impetuous  adjectives  from  her  morning- 
room  windows,  and  her  maids  grew  affluent  on  ancillary 
arles.  Lady  Mechante  was  forced  to  live  a  large  portion 
of  her  time  in  her  brougham  in  order  to  escape  the  insist 
ence  of  her  satellites. 

Despite  all  this,  the  gayety  of  the  town  held  the  charming 
widow  captive,  for  she  was  city-bred  and  disdained  the 
unspiced  flavor  of  rural  joys.  She  could  no  more  deny 
herself  the  stimulus  of  gas-lit  frivolity  than  she  could  refuse 
her  lips  the  invisible  aid  of  vermeil.  She  was  a  creature 
who  craved  exotic  intellectual  sensations.  As  she  was 
clever  and  imaginative,  she  could  not  help  seeing  all  about 
her  the  avenues  of  Indiscretion  which  led  to  tiny  twilight 
paradises,  little  carousels  of  fashion,  into  which  her  comrades 
strayed,  hand  in  hand,  questing  adventure ;  but  these  were 
not  for  her.  She  was  for  a  marvel ;  the  caverns  of  her  joy 
must  be  not  stucco  but  crystal  and  ruby. 

She  thought  time  and  again  of  flinging  away  her  fortune 
and  making  for  the  purlieus  again,  but  the  memory  of  her 
former  society  checked  her ;  she  did  not  like  second-story 
men,  she  found  forgers  and  counterfeiters,  cracksmen  and 
confidence  sharps,  all  one-sided  and  vulgar.  There  were, 
on  the  contrary,  many  men  in  the  world  polite  whom  she 
would  welcome  into  her  acquaintance  if  they  could  be 
induced  to  come,  but  they  would  not  come.  In  short,  she 

[6] 


A   BURGLAR'S    WIDOW 


longed  to  pick  her  own  friends  as  men  used,  and  to  be  free 
to  go  and  come  at  will  among  them,  without  card  or  caution. 

But  she  lacked  the  precise  impelling  motive  till,  at  a 
dinner  given  by  Madame  Qui-Vive,  she  found  herself  taken 
in  to  table  by  a  man  whose  face  seemed  piquantly  sugges 
tive.  She  tried  to  pick  up,  in  her  memory,  his  name  from 
the  mumble  that  had  served  as  her  introduction,  but  except 
that  it  began  or  ended  with  an  "  R,"  she  found  nothing  to 
prompt  her.  She  read  his  name  on  the  card  beside  his 
plate.  It  was  "  Mr.  Guy  Bounder." 

She  said,  then,  as  he  began  his  oysters  with  the  wrong 
fork,  "  Mr.  Bounder,  I  seem  to  recall  your  face,  as  of  one 
I  have  known,  but  I  cannot  put  you  quite  in  your  place  in 
that  rogues'  gallery  of  my  mind.  Something  in  your  gauc her ie, 
too,  cries  out  for  recognition  ;  a  certain  slipshod  habit  of 
your  attire,  an  unpleasant  though  familiar  expression  in  your 
eyes,  proclaim  you  an  old  friend,  but  I  am  at  a  loss  to  class 
you.  If  you  have  this  stolen  property  of  mine,  I  pray  you 
return  me  my  recognition." 

"  I  thank  you  a  thousand  times  for  your  insults,"  said 
Mr.  Bounder,  dropping  his  serviette  and  planting  a  kiss 
upon  Florizelle's  carelessly  dropped  hand  as  he  stooped 
to  pick  up  the  linen  before  the  waiter  could  intervene.  u  I 
thank  you,  since  it  proves  you  really  are  what  I  had  sus 
pected  ;  you  are  Florry  Gaillarde  !  " 

Lady  Mechante  nearly  swooned.  "  But  your  name  !  " 
she  cried,  in  a  tone  that  brought  twenty  eyes  jumping 
toward  them,  hurdling  the  lighted  candlesticks  to  throw 
themselves  mercilessly  upon  the  pair. 

u  I  call  her  Emily,  only  Emily,  and  she  has  just  com 
menced  to  talk  !  "  he  replied  with  rare  presence  of  mind. 
"  Only  the  other  day  she  toddled  in,  and  said  —  " 

[7] 


LADT   M EC H ANTE 


But  by  this  time  the  inquisitors  had  turned  their  atten 
tion  from  the  two,  and  he  resumed  with  more  adulation, 
u  Surely  you  remember  '  Mustard,'  the  hero  of  the  Belgrave 
Square  job  ?  I  remember  your  own  congratulations  one 
evening  at  the  Burglars'  Ball  !  And  so  poor  Leopold  is 
dead  ?  I  suppose  you  keep  on  with  the  business  ?  " 

"  What,  in  heaven's  name,  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Lady 
Mechante.  Then,  turning  to  the  human  being  on  her 
left,  she  murmured,  "No,  I  haven't  been  to  the  theatre  for 
two  days  !  c  The  Atom  '  was  so  clever  that  it  absolutely 
exhausted  me.  .  .  .  Yes,  you  must  come  and  see  me ! 
I  am  always  at  home  on  the  fifth  Wednesday  in  February, 
from  eleven  to  quarter-to-twelve.  ...  —  No,  really  ?  " 
And  then,  to  Mr.  Bounder  she  added,  "  Is  it  possible  that 
there  is  a  profession  that  my  sex  has  not  adventured?  Are 
there,  then,  female  burglars  ?  " 

"Heaven  forbid!"  said  Mr.  Bounder,  "but  I  thought 
that  one  of  your  Ladyship's  attainments  and  cleverness 
would  have  profited  by  your  husband's  tutelage." 

"  I  am  no  Lady,"  said  Florizelle.  "  I  have  dropped 
the  sobriquet.  Here  are  ladies  around  you ;  do  you 
confound  me  with  such  waxwork  ?  But  seriously,  you 
have,  for  once,  put  an  idea  into  my  head.  No,  no;  not 
that  there  was  not  plenty  of  room,"  she  added;  "but  that 
you  should  have  done  it !  " 

"  I  could  find  you  the  necessary  tools,"  said  Mr.  Bounder. 
"  I  have  myself  a  silver-mounted  set  that  I  would  willingly 
place  at  your  service."  The  love-light  had  stolen  into  his 
face. 

"  It  is  not  that  —  it  is  not  even  the  lack  of  familiarity 
with  the  old-time  '  fences,' "  she  said,  casting  down  her 
eyes.  "  I  have  not  lost  my  proficiency.  See  here  !  " 

[8] 


A   BURGLAR'S    WIDOW 


As  he  looked,  she  abstracted  the  gold  watch  from  her 
neighbor's  pocket,  while  she  feigned  to  reach  for  the 
celery. 

u  Ah,  yes ;  I  remember  that  trick  well,"  said  Mr. 
Bounder,  accepting  the  little  token  of  old  friendship.  "  I 
once  waltzed  with  you  !  " 

"  Do  not  mention  it,"  the  widow  replied,  summoning  a 
blush.  "  It  was  such  a  little  thing  to  do  for  a  friend.  I 
am  sure  you  profited  by  it  in  the  long  run.  But  this  is  the 
point:  I  am  bored.  Frankly,  dull  as  you  are,  you  are  a 
Haroun-al-Raschid  compared  with  these  half-witted  objects 
here.  You  have  —  unwittingly,  I  acknowledge  —  pointed 
out  to  me  an  avenue  of  escape.  You  still  love  me  ?  " 

"  Madly,"  murmured  Mr.  Bounder. 

u  Then  accept  your  reward  !  Kiss  me  ! "  She  slightly 
inclined  her  head. 

"  What  ho  !   Before  all  these  people  r  "  cried  Bounder. 

"You  are  a  poor  fool,"  said  the  little  widow.  "One 
does  not  offer  such  a  favor  twice.  You  have  lost  that  one 
forever.  But  you  still  have  the  watch,  and  it  will  stand 
you  ten  quid  at  least.  Let  that  suffice.  As  for  me,  I  have 
found  my  career.  The  world  shall  once  more  hear  of 
Lady  Mechante !  "  And,  though  the  entree  had  just  been 
served,  she  rose  and  left  the  table. 

In  this  wise  did  Mrs.  Florizelle  make  her  dignified  exit 
from  Society. 


9] 


Chapter  ttoo 

A   SENTIMENTAL   FELON 

Ye  dross,  ye  powdered  pigsbones,  rhubarb  glisters  ! 

(Thierry  and  Theodoret.) 

was  not  long  before  Lady  Mechanic's 
prestige  had  flooded  the  crepuscular  sub- 
world  of  extra-ritualistic  functions ;  for, 
among  that  Submerged  Tenth,  her  skill 
and  daring,  combined  with  the  compulsion 
of  her  ardent  nature  and  lambent  tempera 
ment,  would  have  insured  her  leadership  even  if  she  had  not 
had  the  handicap  of  Leopold's  connection  with  the  pro 
fession.  She  had  no  need,  then,  to  begin  with  Shoreditch 
or  the  Newington  Causeway,  and,  though  she  was  known 
and  feared  at  the  "  Elephant  and  Castle,"  her  fame  jumped 
boldly  into  the  secret  councils  of  Soho.  In  the  empire  of 
Crime  and  Adventure  women  have  larger  rights  and  lesser 
privileges,  so  she  threw  off  the  insistence  of  chivalry ;  she 
w.as  no  longer  over-sexed,  she  had  become  an  Economic 
Factor,  taking  her  place  as  an  equal. 

London,  indeed,  soon  began  to  hear  of  Lady  Mechante, 
as  she  had  predicted.  She  fitted  modern  methods  to  modern 
needs,  and,  not  content  with  harassing  the  better  known 
districts  of  Society,  she  became  an  explorer  and  laid  her 
tribute  upon  new  territories.  Her  ablest  accomplice  in  this 
work  was  Guy  Bounder,  who,  though  a  child  compared 
with  her,  in  the  field  of  invention,  was  familiar  with  the 

[10] 


A    SENTIMENTAL    FELON 


machinery  of  the  profession,  having  kept  in  touch  with  af 
fairs  while  she  was  rusting  in  the  aristocracy. 

But,  though  it  is  not  of  these  industries  that  our  tale  is 
concerned,  let  us  mention  some  of  her  more  important  de 
partures.  First  among  these  came  her  innovations  in  the 
scandal  market;  she  replaced  the  private  detective  in  im 
portant  divorce  proceedings,  and  became  a  purveyor  of  sen 
sation  to  the  more  lurid  journals.  Her  skill  in  breaking  and 
entering  gave  her  marvelous  proficiency  and  usefulness  to 
her  clients,  but  by  reason  of  her  intimate  familiarity  with 
the  classes,  she  was  enabled  to  select  and  obtain  what  ordi 
nary  thieves  would  hardly  have  noticed.  She  did,  it  is  true, 
pick  up  a  rare  first  edition  here  and  a  particularly  attractive 
etching  there,  but  this  was  mere  by-play. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  these  activities,  and  too  many  more  to 
describe,  she  lacked  adventure  of  proper  quality  to  satisfy 
her  multiplex  necessities.  Guy  Bounder  and  her  lesser  asso 
ciates  she  saw  as  through  the  wrong  end  of  the  opera-glass 
—  small,  sharply  set  in  a  wonder-world  of  insignificant  emo 
tions,  delicately  colored,  but  cold  and  unreal.  After  all, 
they  were  no  more  worth  while  than  her  five-o'clock  frock- 
coats.  They  were  indurated  ;  the  crust  of  their  profession 
alism  could  be  broken  into  by  no  pang  of  novelty,  nor  by 
the  stabs  with  which  the  mad-hearted  little  Florizelle  sought 
to  pierce  their  calm. 

Still,  she  knew  that  there  were  men  worth  while  know 
ing,  and  if  they  attended  neither  the  ordeals  of  Belgravia  nor 
the  occult  processes  in  Soho,  she  must  find  them  out  at 
home.  What  use  was  her  marvelous  capacity  if  she  must 
be  balked  of  such  glorious  booty  as  the  acquaintance  with 
an  Entertaining  Man  ?  A  lively  appetite  for  originality 
grew  into  a  hunger  unbearable,  and  from  that  to  an  intel- 


LADY   M EC H ANTE 


lectual  starvation.  Such  was  her  London.  It  has  been 
many  another's. 

She  was  lunching  at  Dieudonne's  one  day,  saucing  her 
duck  with  such  reflections,  when  a  gentleman  entered  who 
probed  her  curiosity  to  the  quick.  Here,  possibly,  was 
one  of  the  three  interesting  men  in  London.  The  un 
known  seated  himself  near  her  table  and  proceeded  to  give 
evidences  of  taste  and  originality.  His  judgment  of  the 
menu  was  of  a  hair-trigger  accuracy  and  swiftness ;  his 
order  was  sharp  without  being  hurried,  and  his  treatment 
of  the  waiter  and  the  waiter's  treatment  of  him  exhibited 
patently  the  importance  of  the  guest,  both  to  the  community 
and  to  himself.  Lady  Mechante  could  not  help  contrasting 
such  individuality  with  Guy  Bounder's  nonentical  rule-of- 
thumb  savoir  faire.  Guy,  too,  had  a  rabbit  lip,  with  the 
chin  of  a  lizard  ;  he  had  a  rush  of  teeth  to  the  mouth,  and 
yet  she  spent  her  time  with  him  and  his  commonplaces 
when  she  might  have  been  collecting  such  patrons  as 
this  genius  for  her  clientele.  Surely  she  had  lost  much 
time  ! 

She  gave  the  word  to  her  groom  upon  leaving,  and  an 
hour  later  received  the  information  that  the  man  was  a 
Mr.  Saul  Edam,  living  at  No.  67  Knightsbridge,  and  that 
he  carried  on  business  as  an  East  India  warehouseman  in 
the  city.  The  last  item  was  a  shock  to  her,  yet  the  attrac 
tion  of  his  personality  drew  her,  and  she  persuaded  herself 
of  his  worth  by  many  feminine  excuses.  That  very  night, 
indeed,  she  set  out ;  she  was  not  one  to  linger  long  while 
her  egg  cooled. 

"  I  will  do  him  the  honor  of  robbing  him  with  my  own 
hands,"  she  said  to  herself,  u  and,  incidentally,  I  will  find 
out  what  manner  of  man  it  is  who  has  hands  like  that  and 


A    SENTIMENTAL    FELON 


who  wears  a  brown  that  is  at  least  six  weeks  in  advance  of 
the  mode  !  " 

Lady  Mechante  like  Love  laughed  at  locksmiths,  but 
unlike  Love  she  was  by  no  means  blind.  Yet,  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  she  bungled.  She  entered  and  threaded  her 
way  through  the  house  with  dexterity,  giving  a  quick  glance 
here  and  there  as  to  the  importance  or  value  of  the  mental 
furnishings  of  the  place.  Try  as  she  might,  however,  there 
was  little  trace  of  any  secret  that  could  be  made  worth  her 
time  or  trouble.  The  man's  life  was  absurdly  blameless, 
she  estimated  —  there  was  hardly  ten  shillings'  worth  of 
blackmail  from  cellar  to  garret.  It  was,  after  all,  a  house 
for  the  rank  and  file  of  sneak-thieves,  surely  no  place  for  a 
lady.  Still,  she  dared  not  go  till  she  had  taken  a  look 
through  the  secretary  in  the  library. 

A  few  old  love  letters,  yes;  and  she  smiled  at  their  un 
compromising  character.  The  man's  life  must,  she  thought, 
have  been  singularly  dull.  It  would  be  a  charity  to  write  a 
note  and  leave  it  here  for  him,  perhaps  to  smoulder  like  a 
spark  till  his  glance  kindled  it  into  flame.  She  was  feeling 
for  a  pen  when  a  noise  behind  her  turned  her  head.  Mr. 
Edam  had  entered,  and  his  face  wore  an  unaccustomed  look 
of  surprise.  It  was  evident  that  he  was  unused  to  enter 
taining  ladies  in  his  rooms  ;  he  was  even  ungallant  enough 
to  exhibit  his  displeasure. 

"  What,  in  heaven's  name,  does  this  mean,  madam  ? 
And  by  what  right  are  you  ransacking  my  desk  at  this  hour 
of  the  night  ?  " 

"Pray  don't  disturb  yourself;  I  have  just  finished,"  said 
Lady  Mechante,  drawing  on  her  gloves.  "  I  was  just  pick 
ing  up  a  few  trifles,  but  I  assure  you  that  I  have  found 
nothing  of  value.  I  won't  trouble  you  longer  —  really,  I 


LADT   M ECU ANTE 


s 


must  be  moving.  But  that  old  scarab  seal  there,  yes,  I 
might  take  that.  Thank  you,  good-night !  "  She  turned 
as  she  passed  him  :  "  Poor,  dear  man  !  You  are  bored, 
are  n't  you  ?  Now,  I  know  of  a  lady  who  is  so  good  at  that 
sort  of  thing.  Really,  she  does  it  very  well  indeed  ! ! 

"  Who  and  what  are  you  ?  "  Mr.  Edam  insisted.  "  Am 
I  to  take  you  for  a  common  burglar  ?  How  did  you  enter 
my  house  ?  " 

"  Pat-a-tie,  pat-a-ta  !  "  mocked  Florizelle.  "  In  a  mo 
ment  I  shall  be  annoyed,  and  then  I  shall  never,  never  come 
again!  I  came  in  by  the  window  —  we  modern  English 
women  are  agile.  A  burglar,  yes  —  a  wnmon  burglar,  no! 
My  word,  sir,  do  I  look  it  ?  "  And  she  ran  up  to  the 
mirror. 

"  You  are  young  for  this  business,  my  dear,"  said  Edam, 
who  could  not  help  but  be  charmed  by  the  lady's  manners. 
"But  think  what  this  means  —  at  your  age,  too  !"  Lady 
Mechante  blew  him  a  kiss.  "  You  a  thief!  God  help  me  ! 
I  can  hardly  believe  my  eyes  ! ' 

"  Oh,  I  beg  you  not  to  inflict  your  Nonconformist  mo 
rality  upon  me  at  this  hour  !  "  she  answered.  "  What, 
then,  is  your  honesty  —  you,  a  city  merchant  ?  You  buy, 
it  is  true,  but  you  sell  for  more  than  you  gave,  cheating 
your  victim  out  of  one  or  two  hundred  per  cent.  What 
more  do  I  ?  I  take,  here  and  there,  what  I  can  find,  and 
I  sell  it  again  at  an  insignificant  advance;  think  of  the 
risks,  too,  should  I  fall  in  with  those  who  are  not  gentle 
men  !  "  She  gave  him  a  searching  glance,  which  embar 
rassed  him  visibly.  "  No,  no,  I  believe  you  honorable, 
Mr.  Edam  ;  I  do  not  accuse  you.  You  believe  in  compe 
tition.  You  know  that  honesty  is  an  outworn  policy  in 
your  business.  It  has  as  little  place  in  mine.  I  know, 

[H] 


A    SENTIMENTAL    FELON 


too,  that  you  play  the  stock  market ;  you  are,  in  short,  a 
gambler.  Well,  then,  you  prefer  chance,  and  I,  skill.  Yet 
I  had  fancied  you  might  understand  —  that  you  might  ap 
preciate  the  compliment  I  paid  you.  Never  mind.  You 
may  yet  regret  your  treatment  of  Lady  Mechanic.  And 
now,  sir,  though  I  am  far  from  angry,  there  is  nothing  I 
desire  so  much  as  a  way  to  the  door.  I  have  a  shattered 
ideal  to  nurse.  It  is  very  late.  Yes,  the  tips  of  my  fingers 
only.  Well,  perhaps  we  may  yet  be  friends.  Good 
night  !  "  She  ran  downstairs  lightly  and  was  into  her 
brougham  before  Saul  Edam  could  pursue. 

Disastrous  as  was  this  sentimental  experiment,  she  could 
not  help  confessing  whimsically  to  Guy  Bounder,  who 
heard  the  tale  with  a  lowering  brow. 

"  Oh,  I  say  !  "  he  interrupted.  "  You  'd  better  steer 
clear  of  Johnnies  like  that,  you  know  !  It  was  all  right 
when  you  were  in  the  swim,  but  business  is  business  now, 
and  I  don't  like  it."  The  vital  point  of  the  episode  had, 
as  usual,  utterly  failed  him,  and  Florizelle  sighed. 

Yet  she  was  only  twenty-three,  youth  was  still  bubbling 
in  the  glass  of  life,  and  she  coaxed  her  illusion  back  to  con 
valescence.  From  many  pleasing  hints  and  anecdotes  the 
name  of  Sir  Seton  Maldivers,  Q.  C.,  became  known  to  her 
as  an  advocate  of  unusual  astuteness.  In  all  her  life  she 
had  not  met  a  barrister.  A  few  phrases  of  his  lodged  in 
her  mind.  He  had  a  way  with  men  and  children.  He 
was  a  woman-hater,  to  boot,  and  this  alone  was  enough  to 
pay  for  the  trip  to  St.  John's  Wood.  Up  she  went,  then, 
and  in  she  got  by  way  of  a  parlor  casement.  She  hoped 
he  would  be  at  home,  for  she  was  minded  to  steal  a  glimpse 
of  his  profile.  There  was  an  odor  of  good  tobacco  in  the 
house  as  she  tripped  upstairs.  She  laid  hand  upon  the 

[-5] 


LADT   M EC H ANTE 


door  whence  it  proceeded  most  plainly,  and  walked  in 
boldly.  She  was  bound,  this  time,  to  put  the  matter  to  the 
touch  without  preliminary  skirmish. 

Sir  Seton  Maldivers  was  reading,  but  he  rose  hurriedly 
as  she  entered.  I  beg  pardon,"  he  exclaimed ;  "  really, 
I  had  not  heard  you  announced ;  you  know,  you  quite 
surprised  me  !  " 

"  It  is  close  upon  three  in  the  morning,"  Florizelle  re 
turned,  "  and  I  had  not  thought  it  worth  while  to  disturb 
the  servants." 

"  But  I  don't  quite  understand  -    "  began  the  baronet. 

"  I  shall  try  to  make  it  easier  for  you,"  said  the  lady. 
u  Fancy,  for  the  instant,  that  you  are  back  in  the  days 
of  Romance.  Your  book,  yes,  as  I  thought  —  Anthony 
Hope  —  that  simplifies  matters.  Let  us  proceed,  then, 
en  regie.  I  come  in  the  guise  of  a  highwayman,  by  bur 
glarious  entry  ;  I  ask  you  to  stand  and  deliver.  Your  ideas, 
then,  or  your  life  !  I  need  not  say  I  am  desperate.  Thank 
your  stars  that  I  am  also  beautiful.  You  are  indeed  for 
tunate,  and  this  relief  should  be  a  pleasure.  But  I  am  in 
haste.  What  ideas,  thoughts,  fancies,  quips,  jests,  conceits, 
inventions,  judgments,  theories,  speculations,  notions,  opin 
ions,  beliefs,  sentiments,  or  what-not  you  have,  you  must 
make  over,  for  I  must  fill  my  head  before  morning  breaks. 
I  prefer  a  marketable  commodity,  surely,  yet  I  shall  not 
stick  for  commerce.  Speak,  then,  if  you  dare  answer  a 
hot-headed  woman  !  I  am  in  no  mood  to  wait  while  you 
consult  the  encyclopedia !  Understand,  my  dear  sir,  if 
you  please,  you  are  being  bullied.  I  am  prepared  to  use 
force  !  " 

"  My  dear  Miss  Rigmarole,"  cried  the  barrister,  u  I  pray 
that  you  attempt  to  calm  yourself.  I  will  ring  for  attend- 


A    SENTIMENTAL    FELON 


ance  ;  surely  you  are  distraught  !  Just  a  minute,  and  my 
maid  —  " 

The  little  lady  whipped  out  a  revolver  and  presented  it 
at  his  head.  "  Must  I  be  more  explicit  ?  "  she  said.  "  Do 
you  imagine  that  because  I  can  gossip  I  shall  not  face 
death  if  necessary  ?  I  have  not  touched  your  property  as 
yet,  but  pray  do  not  found  too  high  a  conception  of  my 
scruples  upon  that  restraint.  I  am  of  the  criminal  class,  I 
assure  you,  and  though  I  have  neither  a  low,  receding  fore 
head  nor  the  unsym metrical  stigmata  of  the  mattoid,  yet  I 
am  bad  enough,  in  a  way,  as  the  world  judges.  Are  you  a 
man,  then,  or  a  mouse  ?  " 

"  Are  you  a  woman  or  a  devil  ?  "   retorted  the  barrister. 

Lady  Mechante  dropped  the  end  of  her  weapon.  "  The 
retort  courteous,"  she  mused.  "  He  may  do." 

In  an  instant  she  was  disembarrassed  of  the  pistol  and 
found  herself  violently  seated  upon  a  lounge.  The  tete-a- 
tete  had  become  intense. 

"  By  your  eye,  you  are  mad  !  "  said  Sir  Seton,  "  and  I 
shall  take  immediate  steps  for  your  apprehension." 

The  lady  forced  a  laugh.  "  Oh,  no  ;  never  mind.  My 
apprehension  is  satisfactory  to  me."  She  opened  her  chate 
laine  and  displayed  several  instruments,  the  use  of  which 
is  unmistakably  illegal.  "  Here  !  I  may  convince  you,  at 
least,  of  my  sanity." 

"  Heavens  !  How  came  you  to  this  pitch  of  corrup 
tion  ?  "  said  the  other. 

"  Mere  enthusiasm,"  asserted  the  lady,  lightly.  "  Much 
as  you  have  attained  your  own  eminence  in  the  law.  Yet 
I  object  to  your  substantive.  Corruption  is  an  unpleasant 
term  ;  it  is  horridly  suggestive  of  physical  decay." 

"  Yet  you  acknowledge  that  you  have  chosen  a  career  of 
['7] 


LADT  MECHANTE 


vice,"  the  baronet  said,  still  feeling  her  with  his  two  eyes. 
"  Have  you  no  conscience,  then,  madam,  that  you  pros 
titute  your  intellect  in  such  an  infamous  pursuit  ?  " 

"  Enough  of  such  Philistinism.  I  am  sick  of  such  con 
ventional-minded  obloquy  !  You  dare  speak  to  me  of 
conscience,  of  infamous  pursuits  —  you  who  trade  in  pro 
fessional  hypocrisy  ?  You,  sir,  are  a  criminal  advocate  ;  it 
is  your  business  to  defend  or  to  prosecute,  as  your  retainer 
bids ;  to  shut  your  eyes  to  the  verities  and  attempt  to  close 
others'  vision.  What  are  you  but  a  licensed  liar  ?  It  is 
the  same  to  you  whether  you  are  keeping  a  criminal  from 
his  just  deserts  or  stretching  the  neck  of  an  innocent  father 
whose  little  ones  shall  cast  his  blood  upon  your  head  ! 
Sac-a-papler  !  My  trade  is  open  and  holy  beside  yours.  I 
pit  my  craft  against  organized  society  and  take  all  chances. 
Even  you  know  me  by  name  and  by  fame.  I  am  Lady 
Mechante,  the  heroine  of  ten  thousand  actionable  works  of 
art  and  genius  !  " 

With  that  she  turned  and  left  him.  At  the  door  she 
stopped  and  turned  to  him,  as  an  actress  pauses  at  the 
wings  before  the  customary  stage  exit.  "  I  shall  not  come 
again,"  she  said ;  "  I  shall  not  come  again  !  "  Her  veil 
was  tied,  her  gloves  buttoned  ;  she  ducked  her  head  and 
threw  herself  out  of  the  doorway,  leaving  the  baronet  wip 
ing  his  eyeglasses  nervously. 

"  My  word,  you  surprise  me,"  said  Guy  Bounder,  when 
he  heard  of  the  exploit.  "  But  I  sye,  you  know,  you  don't 
want  to  go  and  make  gyme  of  a  toff  like  Sir  Seton,  blimy, 
or  I  'm  fair  to  split !  What 's  the  use  of  being  so  cocky  ? 
Why,  Sir  Seton  is  by  wye  of  being  the  best  criminal  advo 
cate  in  the  city,  and  we  're  like  to  need  him  any  time,  s'  help 

[18] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


me !  My  word,  it  '11  tyke  a  bit  of  doing  to  get  you  off, 
Florry,  when  you  're  pulled  !  "  Guy's  fortunes  had  fallen 
to  a  low  ebb,  and  his  manners  usually  kept  them  company. 

Such  remonstrances,  however,  failed  to  dampen  Mrs. 
Gaillarde's  enthusiasm.  Nor,  indeed,  did  a  series  of  un 
successful  attempts  at  nocturnal  adventure  during  the  en 
suing  season.  She  flitted  here  and  there,  breaking  and 
entering,  and  now  and  again,  as  her  moods  grew  more 
reckless,  she  hazarded  interviews  with  her  patrons.  She 
confined  her  attentions  to  gentlemen  whose  birth  and 
repute  promised  the  greatest  intellectual  satisfaction,  and 
she  became  a  polite  register  of  the  town's  bachelordom 
and  jeunesse  doree.  Many  a  youth  awakened  at  two  in  the 
morning  to  find  a  beautiful  woman,  masked,  and  attired  in 
tune  with  the  latest  cry,  sitting  in  his  favorite  armchair, 
smoking  a  perfumed  cigarette,  waiting  for  him  to  compose 
his  wits  for  the  colloquy.  She  ranged  wide  with  such  as 
were  fit  opponents,  touching  religion,  conduct,  art,  fash 
ion,  and  sport,  working  delicately  along  the  lines  of  least 
resistance. 

How  few  there  were,  however,  worth  her  while  !  From 
Mayfair  to  St.  John's  Wood,  from  St.  James's  to  Chelsea 
and  Bayswater,  she  followed  every  clue,  and  the  legend  of 
Lady  Mechante  arose  and  flew  from  club  to  club  and  from 
pub  to  pub.  Last  night  she  had  visited  young  Barnegat, 
the  Australian  millionaire,  at  his  rooms  in  Duke  Street ;  last 
week  she  had  fascinated  Lord  George  Cobhouse,  and  he 
had  chased  her  half-way  across  Kensington  Gardens  in  his 
pajamas  before  her  grooms  had  caught  him  and  beaten  him 
blue.  To-night  wagers  had  been  laid  on  Blankinsop,  the 
American  plunger,  and  men  walked  the  streets  about 
Cavendish  Square,  hoping  for  a  sight  of  the  green  Brougham. 

[20] 


A   SENTIMENTAL    FELON 


Gentlemen  of  fashion  began  to  leave  their  house  doors 
unlocked  and  their  watches  prominently  displayed  to  net 
this  butterfly.  Her  mots  were  retailed  at  afternoon 
functions  ;  the  women  of  the  innermost  circles  conspired 
together  to  put  a  stop  to  the  innovator.  The  man  who 
had  last  received  Lady  Mechante  was  the  popular  hero 
until  the  next  was  chosen ;  and  before  long  it  came  to  pass 
that  there  were  false  witnesses  enough  for  a  dozen  duels. 
No  one,  as  yet,  had  seen  her  face ;  no  one  had  touched  her 
lips.  With  all  her  prominence  in  the  arena  of  gossip, 
scandal  had  not  wounded  her;  there  were  too  many  men- 
about-town  infatuated  with  Lady  Mechante  to  make  that 
safe. 


Chapter  Wyttt 

THE  CADGER  OF  CHELSEA 

Both  their  brains  buttered  cannot  make  two  spoonfuls. 

(Rule  a  Wife  and  Have  a  Wife.) 

,HERE  was  a  time  when  Guy  Bounder  had 
kept  up  a  dummy  residence  in  Jermyn 
Street  and  built  from  that  pied-a-terre  a 
flimsy  fabric  of  fashionable  prestige.  It 
was  at  Madame  Qui-Vive's,  indeed,  that 
Mrs.  Gaillarde  first  encountered  him  after 
her  re-entrance  into  Society,  but  Mr.  Bounder's  presence 
there  would  hardly  bear  investigation.  There  are  paid  as 
well  as  paying  guests  at  the  functions  of  the  beau  monde. 
That  had  been  Guy  Bounder's  unique  appearance  at  the 
Hotel  Qui-Vive. 

For  a  while  the  magnificent  successes  of  Lady  Mcchante 
enabled  her  partner  to  keep  up  the  Jermyn  Street  apart 
ments  upon  a  still  more  solid  basis  than  before,  and  Guy 
found  his  professional  connections  with  Society  by  day 
gave  him  many  advantages  which  he  was  not  slow  to  use 
by  night.  The  partnership  flourished  for  a  while,  but 
my  Lady  Mechanic's  fantastic  taste  for  originality  and  the 
spicery  of  genius  led  her  steadily  away  from  the  industries 
that  Guv  himself  considered  most  remunerative.  The  weekly 
accountings  grew  smaller  and  smaller,  and,  not  to  put  too 
fine  a  point  to  his  sufferings,  four  months  later  found  Guy 
Bounder  installed  permanently  in  rooms  on  the  Queen's 

[22] 


THE    CADGER    OF   CHELSEA 


Road,  Chelsea,  opposite  the  Royal  Hospital,  a  seedy, 
plucked  thing  of  questionable  antecedents  and  suspicious 
habits.  He  at  his  perihelion  was  no  Adonis,  but  in  this 
phase  of  disrespectability  his  weakness  betrayed  itself  in 
face,  speech,  and  gesture  as  he  sat  at  his  tiny  window  and 
thought  of  the  recidivation  of  his  associate. 

At  the  rare  intervals  when  he  was  permitted  to  see  his 
patroness,  he  was,  of  course,  unable  to  give  voice  to  his  re 
proaches.  Florizelle  was  too  gay  and  irresponsible  for  that ; 
she  had  but  to  crook  a  little  finger  and  he  melted  into  a 
canine  submission  and  sentimentality.  She  twittered  and 
laughed  away  his  disappointment,  and  yet  he  lacked  the 
stamina  to  break  with  her  directly  —  to  plunge  alone  into 
manly  enterprises  of  his  own  and  reinstate  himself  in  the 
profession  and  at  the  secret  councils  of  the  Fraternity. 
Lady  Mechante  had  long  since  begun  to  neglect  the  con 
spiracies  of  Soho,  and  was  in  open  revolt,  playing  her  own 
part  in  the  town  as  a  free  lance,  and  reporting  to  no  central 
authority,  claiming  no  vote  in  the  tribunal.  Guy  feared  for 
her.  She  was  already  suspected,  but  he  had  defended  her 
as  well  as  his  standing  permitted ;  he  had  no  suspicion  yet 
of  any  cardinal  lapse  from  the  primitive  ethics  of  the 
clique.  If  such  a  -mouse  can  love,  he  loved  Florizelle,  and 
love  can  accomplish  marvels.  His  passion  was  in  a  fair 
way  soon  to  make  a  man  of  him.  A  drop  of  jealousy  in 
that  sweet  solution  would  at  any  moment  turn  it  to  a 
mordant  acid. 

He  was  sitting  indolently  at  his  window  one  day,  watch 
ing  the  daily  pavement  quarrel  whose  actors  were  usually 
recruited  from  Paradise  Alley  across  the  street,  when  a  green 
brougham  came  into  the  road  from  Tite  Street  and  drew 
up  at  the  curb.  From  this  alighted  something  in  veil  and 


LADY   MECHANTE 


lace  and  fashionable  frippery  —  woman  or  angel,  he  guessed. 
The  crowd,  staring,  made  way  for  her  ;  she  pushed  open  the 
iron  gate  of  the  tiny  garden  and  rapped  at  the  knocker  with 
a  gusto  that  rattled  the  windows.  It  was  not  two  minutes 
before  a  flutter  outside  his  door  told  him  the  honor  was  to 
be  his,  and,  after  a  moment  of  suspense,  Florizelle  entered 
to  him,  borne  up  from  below  on  a  wave  of  curiosity  visible 
and  audible  from  his  landlady,  her  father,  daughter,  and  the 
slavey  who  whispered  and  peeped  on  the  second  landing. 
Mr.  Bounder  welcomed  his  caller  with  surprise,  stuffed  a 
wad  of  paper  into  the  keyhole,  and  showed  the  lady  a  seat. 

"  Oh,  Guy  !  "  she  commenced,  casting  a  lively  eye  over 
the  dingy  chamber,  u  what  a  dear,  funny  little  room  !  " 

"  It 's  all  o'  that,"  said  Guy,  "  at  eight-and-six  a  week  in 
advance,  and  sixpence  a  scuttle  for  coals.  It 's  beastly 
funny,  ain't  it  ?  Want  to  tyke  a  room  here  ?  " 

"  Poor  old  Guy,"  the  visitor  murmured.  "  Are  you 
strapped  again,  boy  ?  " 

"  Strapped  ain't  wot  it  is  —  I  'm  bust,  Florry  !  I  've 
winked  me  jerry,  I  've  popped  me  topper,  and  I  've  hung 
up  me  waistcoats,  and  I  Ve  done  in  every  last  flash  at 
Uncle  Jacob's.  I  ain't  got  chalk  fer  a  'arf-pint  o'  bitter  at 
the  Six  Bells.  I  'm  a  vag,  I  am." 

u  My  word  !  "  cried  the  little  lady,  drawing  out  her  hand 
kerchief,  a  lace  bit,  a  two-guinea  affair  from  New  Bond 
street,  and  wiping  a  tear  from  her  lid.  "  Are  n't  you  doing 
any  jobs  now  ?  " 

"  I  ain't  got  the  nerve  without  you,  Florry,  blimy  if  I 
have !  I  ain't  bust  a  'ouse  since  you  give  me  the  sneak. 
Strike  me  blue  if  I  won't  be  carryin'  the  flag  in  another 
week  !  I  've  got  down  to  w'istlin'  up  'ansoms  fer  the  toffs 
and  cab-duckin',  /  'ave.  An'  you  flashin'  abart  in  brooms, 

[H] 


THE    CADGER    OF   CHELSEA 


s'  help  me  !  Christmas  !  I  feel  as  mean  as  a  dyin'  duck  in 
a  thunderstorm,  Florry.  But  I  ain't  tried  to  touch  you,  old 
girl,  'ave  I  ?  Not  fer  a  half-crown,  I  ain't.  I  '11  do  time 
first  !  " 

"  Poor  old  Guy  !  Think  of  the  good  jobs  we  've  been  in 
together  !  How  I  have  neglected  you  !  But  that 's  all  right, 
Guy  ;  I  've  been  busy  myself." 

u  Busy  at  wot,  I  'd  like  to  arsk  ?  I  Ve  heerd  o'  Lady 
Meshant's  doin's  abart  town,  Florry,  an'  I  ain't  winked.  I 
kin  trust  you  fer  a  pal,  old  girl,  cos  I  know  yer  stryte,  but 
wot 's  the  little  gyme  ?  Ain't  it  time  to  let  me  in?" 

"  Never  mind  my  affairs  in  the  past,  but  I  Ve  a  '  pony  '  for 
you  now,  for  the  luck  's  turned.  Yes,  a  l  monkey,'  if  you 
like,  and  you  fit.  See  here  :  how  much  are  you  in  for  with 
your  landlady  ?  " 

Bounder  took  out  a  roll  of  greasy  sheets  from  an  empty 
tobacco  jar.  "  I  don't  do  much  eatin',"  he  mumbled.  "  I 
get  sevenpence-ha'penny  breakfasts,  w'ich  means  tea  like 
paynt,  an'  a  'orrid  egg  with  two  slabs  o'  toast  to  it,  and 
mangy  butter.  There  's  fourteen  bob  four  a  week  fer  six 
weeks,  is  two  pun  six,  an'  I  ain't  give  the  slavey  a  tanner 
sinct  I  come.  Oh,  I  'm  a  'igh  Willy,  7am  !  " 

"  Here,  take  this  for  the  present,"  said  Lady  Mechante, 
handing  over  a  pair  of  ten-pound  notes.  "  There  's  more  to 
come  when  you  Ve  got  your  clothes  out  of  pawn.  I  hope 
you  have  n't  forgotten  how  to  speak  English,  though,  Guy ; 
you  're  no  use  to  me  on  the  '  other  side  of  the  water/  I 
don't  do  much  business  in  Battersea  or  the  New  Cut 
nowadays." 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Gaillarde,"  protested  Mr.  Bounder,  with 
emphasis,  "  you  will  find  that  when  you  leave  cards  like 
this  with  me,  Guy  Forsythe  Bounder,  Esquire,  is  always  at 


LADT   M EC H ANTE 


f 


home.  I  can  learn  more  English  from  a  Bank  of  England 
note  in  four  minutes  than  from  all  the  pawn  tickets  on  the 
Old  King's  Road,  I  assure  you.  I  am  by  way  of  being  a 
creature  of  environment.  Contact  with  the  purlieus  of 
Paradise  Alley  gilds  one,  in  a  way,  with  a  manner.  I  take 
on  color.  From  this  moment  I  am  all  West  End.  When 
1  wear  varnished  boots  I  promise  you  that  everything  else 
shall  correspond.  I  shall  tub  daily  while  this  munificence 
lasts,  and  I  forswear  Shag  for  Egyptian  Deities  forthwith." 

"  Here,  take  one,"  cried  Lady  Mechante,  merrily,  pro 
ducing  an  enameled  cigarette  case.  "I  confess  your  room 
reeks.  Now  you  are  rehabilitated,  you  surely  must  notice 
it.  Matches  ?  "  she  added,  and  she  shook  the  box  as  she 
passed  it.  "  And  now  to  business,  for  I  see  my  carriage  is 
creating  an  excitement  in  the  neighborhood,  and  there  are 
goings  and  comings  on  the  stair.  You  can  still  do  my  bid 
ding  without  unnecessary  curiosity  as  to  my  motives  ?  " 

"  Madam,  I  am  your  champion  again,"  Mr.  Bounder 
protested.  "  In  our  profession  the  days  of  chivalry  have 
never  died." 

"  Let  us  call  it  nights  of  chivalry,  to  be  more  precise.  I 
have  need  of  you." 

"  Otherwise    you    would    not   be    here,"    said    Bounder, 

sadly. 

"  No,  no  ;  not  that  exactly,"  she  replied.  u  But  that  is 
beside  the  mark.  You  have  mentioned  my  green  brougham. 
I  am  sincerely  sorry  to  find  it  has  become  so  conspicuous. 
Yet  I  may  as  well  use  the  advertisement.  I  propose  to  ply 
it,  then,  henceforth  as  a  decoy  ;  that  is,  if  you  will  be  my 
duck."  She  leaned  toward  him  semi-affectionately. 

Such  demonstrations  always  made  Mr.  Bounder  nervous. 
Like  most  men,  he  preferred  to  make  his  own  advances, 

[26] 


THE    CADGER    OF   CHELSEA 


and  grew  embarrassed  when  forced  to  play  up  to  such 
trumps.  There  was,  indeed,  more  difficulty  in  Lady 
Mechanic's  leniency  than  in  her  reserve,  so  her  demeanor 
sobered  him.  He  rose  awkwardly. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "   he  stammered. 

Florizelle  laughed  wickedly,  knowing  her  hold  over 
him  was  so  sure.  "  This,  if  I  must  put  it  into  words  of 
one  syllable,"  she  said.  "  I  propose  to  ransack  the  town 
while  you  play  ducks  and  drakes  with  these  silly  men. 
You  take  my  brougham  and  my  mask  and  entertain  my 
friends.  I  assure  you  I  have  a  wide  acquaintance,  and  your 
entries  will  be  easy.  Meanwhile,  I  have  my  part  to  act, 
which  need  not  concern  you." 

"  What  shall  I  say  ?  "  cried  Mr.  Bounder,  pitifully. 
u  I  've  heard  the  talk  on  the  Row,  and  I  know  you  've 
been  up  to  some  game  with  the  Johnnies  ;  but,  my  word  ! 
I  don't  see  myself  sitting  in  men's  chambers  in  an  even 
ing  gown,  prattling  Ascot  and  Goodwood  at  three  in  the 
morning  !  I  'm  out  for  the  oof,  Florry.  Business  is 
business.  I  don't  complain,  mind  you.  I  know  you're 
straight,  as  I  said,  and  I  don't  pretend  to  fathom  your 
tricks.  If  I  did  n't  trust  you,  you  know  I  have  only  to 
put  them  onto  you  at  Soho  Square." 

"  Sac-a-papier !  "  cried  Mrs.  Gaillarde.  "Do  I  under 
stand  you  to  threaten  me  ?  Do  you  know  I  am  Lady 
Mechante  ?  I  could  undo  the  Burglars'  Central  Committee 
in  ten  minutes.  Man,  I  am  in  with  the  Privy  Council,  to 
the  last  Lord  !  I  need  n't  mention  the  Prince  —  you  may 
have  heard." 

"  That 's  all  gammon,  Florry  ;  but  I  said  I  was  sure  of 
you.  Still,  business  is  business,  too,"  he  repeated. 

"  Well,  you  won't  complain.      See  here  :   this  chatelaine 


LADY   MECHANTE 


I  found  on  the  dressing-table  of — well,  never  mind  whom. 
It  was  laid  there  for  me.  It 's  a  Queen  Anne,  too.  Charlie 
Northbrooke — .you  know  Charlie?  Dear  boy!  It's  a 
pity  he  has  n't  brains  !  Why,  he  leaves  ten-pound  notes 
about,  with  poems  on  the  back.  No  trick,  either,  for  they 
cash  all  right.  Why,  you  stupid,  you  have  only  to  take 
a  Gladstone  bag  and  pick  the  swag  everywhere  you  go. 
You  '11  find  they  're  fond  of  me.  I  've  been  offered  twenty 
guineas  to  drop  my  mask.  The  town  's  wild  over  me  ! 
You  can  make  a  thousand  a  week  !  " 

"  Why  do  you  leave  it,  then  ?  "  asked  the  astounded 
Bounder. 

"  Never  mind  !  I  Ve  a  better  graft  than  that.  Will  you 
do  it  or  not,  that 's  the  question  ?  " 

"  I   will,  if  it 's   like   that,"   said   Guy.      "  When   do    I 


commence  : 


"To-night.  Come  to  No.  45  Fitzroy  Street,  and  jump 
into  the  carriage  as  it  goes  past  at  one  o'clock.  You  '11 
find  all  the  information  in  the  right-hand  pocket  by  the 
clock,  and  mind,  be  sharp.  Do  as  much  as  you  can. 
There  are  several  expecting  me  ;  and  don't  drop  the  mask, 
not  for  anything  they  offer.  Here  —  you  '11  find  a  sergeant 
of  police  at  the  corner  of  Brook  street  and  Grosvenor 
Square.  I  owe  him  five  pounds.  He's  a  dear'  Your 
costume  ?  Oh,  yes;  I'll  leave  all  the  necessary  things  in 
the  carriage,  and  you  can  change  while  you  're  riding." 

"  Fancy  !  "  interjected  Bounder.  "  I  don't  mind  a  bit 
of  acting,  for  I'm  by  way  of  being  a  proper  c  serio,'  but, 
Lord  !  I  can't  train  down  to  your  figure  !  "  And  he  looked  at 
her  with  complimentary  glances. 

"  You  '11  have  to  lace ;  it  must  be  done,  my  dear  fellow, 
and  the  cape  will  help.  But  study  your  part  well,  mind. 

[28] 


THE   CADGER    OF   CHELSEA 


There's  Sir  Cyril  Heatherby —  talk  polo  to  him,  and  say 
you  've  seen  him  in  the  Park  with  Dolly  Chatterton.  He  '11 
protest.  Then  Lord  Suddenleigh ;  he 's  engaged  to  the 
Honorable  Maude  Evelyn  Poke,  and  you  can  twit  him  with 
that.  Leave  him  the  note  you'll  find  in  the  left-hand 
pocket  of  the  brougham,  and  borrow  all  you  can.  Look 
out  sharp  for  Colonel  Wetmore;  he'll  jolly  well  chase 
you  downstairs  if  you  don't  have  your  revolver  ready. 
The  Marquis  of  Newbury  will  probably  offer  you  jewelry, 
but  insist  on  cash." 

"  Do  they  know  you  're  coming  ?  " 

"  Lord,  no ;  that  is,  not  just  when.  I  've  no  doubt 
they  've  all  paid  the  bobbies  to  look  the  other  way.  No, 
I  never  make  engagements ;  it 's  too  risky.  I  just  drop  in 
casually." 

"  Well,  you  have  got  a  calling  list,  Florry  ;  my  word  ! 
I  '11  do  what  I  can,  but  I  'd  like  to  know  what  you  're 
up  to  !  " 

u  You  '11  be  busy  enough  without  wondering  about  that  ! 
Well,  I  must  be  off.  So  long,  old  boy,  do  it  well !  "  She 
opened  the  door,  blew  him  a  kiss,  and  tripped  downstairs. 
The  front  door  slammed,  the  carriage  door  snapped,  and 
the  green  brougham  was  off  toward  the  West  End. 

Quickly  as  she  vanished,  however,  the  landlady  was  up 
stairs  for  her  rent  before  the  horses  felt  the  whip.  Bounder 
had  already  begun  to  shave,  and  was  practicing  the  airs  and 
graces  of  a  gentleman. 

"  H'm,  h'm,"  murmured  Lady  Mechante  to  herself,  as 
the  houses  flew  by,  "  I  thought  he  was  in  a  way  to  make 
me  trouble.  I  think  I  looked  him  up  just  in  time.  He  '11 
talk  about  me  at  the  Committee  Rooms  in  Soho,  will  he  ? 
Well,  I  Ve  got  rid  of  that.  He  '11  be  too  busy  to  watch  me 


LADT   M EC H ANTE 


for  a  while,  I  give  my  word.  I  '11  settle  him,  just  as  sure  as 
my  name  is  Lady  Mechante,  and  that 's  no  joke,  either. 
And  now,  and  now,  for  Mortimer  Stencill.  Ye  gods,  a 
whole  winter  gone  and  no  one  yet  worth  while  !  London 
Oo>j  I  is  the  dullest  place  on  earth.  If  he  is  as  much  a  c  card  '  as 

the  others,  heaven  help  me,  for  the  devil  won't  !  Yet  what 
an  actor  he  is  !  He  ought  to  be  the  one  at  last !  Heigho, 
I'm  bored  to  death.  Tim's  my  last  chance;  if  he  fails 
me,  I  '11  join  the  Salvation  Army  and  be  a  lieutenant  of 
the  Kennington  Devil  Drivers  !  " 


^ 


I 

1 
i 


Chapter  Jf  our 

THE    PLATONIST 

You  *  re  passionately  met  i?i  this  sad  world ! 

(The  White  Devil.) 

ORTIMER  STENCILL  was  an  American, 
which  fact  may  or  may  not  have  been  the 
foundation  of  Lady  Mechanic's  hopes.  He 
was  good  looking,  even  for  a  matinee  idol, 
having  the  sort  of  face  that  men  admire 
without  contempt,  and  not  of  that  conven 
tional,  shaved  cast  which  proclaims  the  profession.  Travel 
had  tuned  him  ;  he  did  not  jar  or  discord  in  any  society. 
He  had  wit,  the  dry  humor  of  his  nationality,  and  not  a  little 
of  the  romantic  conservatism  of  the  American  in  London. 
He  lived,  during  his  London  seasons,  in  a  little  street  oft' 
Westbourne  Grove,  called  Something  Crescent,  a  street  on  a 
curve,  boasting  front  gardens  elevated  above  the  pavement. 

It  was  a  "  typical  London  evening,"  as  tourists  would 
call  it,  when  Florizelle  drove  past  the  warehouses  of 
Whiteley,  the  u  Universal  Provider,"  wondering  whether, 
even  in  that  famous  magazine,  she  could  find  her  quest  — 
an  interesting  man.  The  fog  had  obliterated  perspective 
as  a  coat  of  whitewash  destroys  the  scrawls  and  shadows  of 
a  cellar  wall.  The  horse  padded  on,  doubtfully,  coming  to 
rude  stops  occasionally  as  the  driver  attempted  to  force  him 
up  over  a  curb  or  into  a  hydrant,  and  Lady  Mechanic  was 
buffeted  to  and  fro  inconsiderately.  She  had  changed  her 

[3-] 


LADY  MECHANTE 


brougham  for  a  private  hansom  and  her  evening  gown  for 
a  white  shirt  and  swallowtail.  An  Inverness  cape  was 
over  all.  Upon  her  coiled  hair  sat  a  mohair  opera  hat, 
securely  pinned.  Between  her  lips  was  a  white  cigarette, 
burning  reluctantly,  for  the  lady  was  a  bit  nervous. 

Yet  there  was  a  smile  on  the  face  of  this  beautiful  Non- 
pareille,  and  her  mind  was  alert  and  ware.  When  she 
reached  the  house  of  her  new  client,  she  sprang  from  the 
seat,  and  the  cab  passed  on  without  stopping.  She  ran  up 
the  wooden  steps,  passed  quickly  round  the  house,  and 
paused  at  a  window  in  the  rear.  In  a  moment  her  mask 
was  adjusted  and  she  had  begun  to  force  the  sash.  That 
done,  she  slid  over  the  sill,  navigated  the  floor  without 
disaster,  and  passed  into  the  hall. 

Above,  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  heard  the  sound  of 
voices,  so  she  dropped  to  a  seat  on  the  stair  to  listen  and 
wait  till  the  house  grew  quiet.  Someone  was  speaking  in 
a  mellow,  modulated  tone  ;  it  was  not  the  tune  of  any 
English  inflection,  for  the  sentences  ended  with  a  falling 
accent.  No  Briton,  she  knew,  could  finish  a  sentence 
without  the  customary  "  is  n't  it  ?  "  with  the  characteristic 
circumflex.  No  Briton,  either,  could  make  a  statement 
without  interlarding  the  phrases  with  u  what  I  mean  to  say 
is  this"  And  yet  there  was  not  the  nasal  drawl  she  had 
been  wont  to  call  American.  It  was  evidently  the  voice  of 
a  gentleman.  After  a  while  the  monologue  ceased,  and 
waiting  a  half-hour,  she  stole  up  to  the  upper  landing. 

In  the  upper  hall  a  thin  pencil  of  light  shot  from  a  single 
keyhole,  and  she  bowed  her  head  to  peep  in,  with  a 
muttered  apology.  Within  the  chamber  a  gentleman  was 
standing  with  his  back  to  her,  in  front  of  a  mirror.  He 
was  swathed  in  a  dressing-gown  or  bath-robe  of  Japanese 

[3*1 


THE   PLATONIST 


flowered  crepe  and  was  brushing  his  hair  vigorously  with 
two  brushes  without  handles.  Below,  a  cuckoo  clock  set 
up  a  distressing  double  hiccough. 

Lady  Mechante  turned  the  handle,  but  the  door  was 
locked;  then  she  cried  "Mortimer  !"  through  the  key-hole, 
and  waited.  The  occupant  of  the  room  answered  directly, 
and  threw  open  the  door.  His  aplomb  certified  to  his 
gentility,  for  he  bowed  politely,  and  then  threw  up  his 
hands  in  the  American  fashion,  in  token  of  submission  to 
the  "  hold-up." 

"  My  watch  and  what  money  I  have  you  will  find  on  the 
bureau,"  he  said.  (Florizelle  wondered  what  "  bureau  " 
meant.)  "  I  beg  you  to  make  no  more  noise  than  is  con 
veniently  necessary.  These  incidents,  I  suppose,  will  hap 
pen,  even  in  London,  and,  so  long  as  you  do  not  shoot  at 
my  toes,  to  force  me  to  dance,  I  can  only  admire  your  en 
terprise."  He  waved  her  toward  the  mirror,  and  then,  see 
ing  no  weapon  in  her  hand,  let  his  arms  drop  and  waited 
for  his  cue. 

Mrs.  Gaillarde,  accustomed  as  she  was  to  cordial  recep 
tions  in  her  wanderings,  could  not  but  wonder  at  the  man's 
courtesy.  She  reflected,  too,  that  she  was  in  masculine 
attire,  and  the  astonishment  grew  to  a  marvel.  She  dropped 
into  a  chair,  therefore,  smiling  behind  her  mask.  "You 
take  me,  then,  for  a  burglar  ?  "  she  murmured. 

"  I  had  sincerely  hoped  so ! "  Mr.  Stencill  explained. 
u  To  my  mind,  it  is  the  most  picturesque  of  professions. 
I  have  long  desired  to  become  acquainted  with  the  frater 
nity.  I  beg  you,"  he  added,  "do  not  disappoint  me.  Your 
informal  entrance  has,  you  will  admit,  given  me  grounds 
for  my  suspicion." 

"  It  is  a  nasty  trade,"  cried  the  newcomer.     "  I  loathe  it ; 

3  [331 


and  yet,  when  you  learn   my  real  condition,  what  will  you 
think  ?  " 

u  Come,  come,"  replied  the  actor.  "  Why,  my  dear  fel 
low,  when  I  think  of  the  shame  and  deceptions  of  my  own 
profession,  the  simulation  of  vices,  the  affectation  of  vir 
tues,  the  eternal  disguise  of  another's  thoughts,  speech,  and 
costume,  the  absolute  impossibility  of  any  spontaneous  act 
—  your  own  craft  strikes  me  as  being  noble  in  comparison. 
You  may  at  least  be  yourself,  you  do  not  have  to  wear  the 
second-hand  robes  of  Hypocrisy  !  " 

u  Yet  I  am  a  criminal  and  an  outcast,"  his  visitor  in 
sisted.  How  often  had  she  not  used  his  very  words  ;  how 
strange  it  seemed  to  hear  his  defense  !  More  than  one 
swift,  silent,  sympathetic  glance  shot  from  the  eye-holes  of 
her  visor.  How  she  delighted  in  his  sophistries  !  How 
often  had  she  not  prated  thus  ! 

u  A  criminal,  yes  !  And  what  am  I  ?  While  I  do  mur 
der  the  pit  applauds  ;  but  what  benefit  do  I  get  from  my 
imitated  crimes  ?  You  go  gloriously  at  large.  You  cry 
'Open  Sesame,'  and  the  doors  that  are  closed  to  me  give 
you  a  sensational  entry.  Who  receives  an  Adelphi  player? 
My  God  !  man,  it  is  I  who  am  branded,  not  you  !  I,  who 
am  surrounded  by  Romance,  can  never  taste  it  myself.  I 
perish  of  thirst,  surrounded  by  the  sea!  I  have  not  even 
the  tinsel  glamor  of  the  stage  to  feed  my  hunger  for  the 
picturesque.  I  am  behind  the  scenes  —  I  see  the  back  of 
painted  flats,  faces  heckled  with  rouge,  mock  properties  and 
empty  wineglasses.  You  have  the  run  of  the  town  !  " 

"  I  would  not  deceive  you,"  answered  the  lady,  affected 
potently  ;  "  think  so,  if  you  can.  Romance  ?  Pish  !  Not  an 
Englishman  in  London  can  so  much  as  spell  the  word.  Yet 
you  seem  to  have  ideals.  I  have  looked  for  you  long,  Mr. 

[34] 


THE    PLATONIST 


Stencill !  You  are  one  of  three  millions.  I  speak  timidly  at 
such  a  visitation  ;  you  may  think  I  am  but  a  timid  burglar, 
even  at  three-and-twenty,  but  —  I  should  like  tokrunvyou" 

"  Is  this  possible  ?  "  cried  Mr.  Stencill.  "  You  do  me  too 
much  honor,  sir  !  " 

"  I  have  not  yet  confessed,"  Mrs.  Gaillarde  answered. 
"  I  have  still  to  test  you.  You  Americans  are  so  absurdly 
chivalrous  that  you  must  compensate  somehow  in  your  atti 
tude  toward  women.  Yes,  I  am  a  woman  !  Hate  me  now, 
despise  me,  and  my  long  quest  is  over,  and  I  shall  return  to 
respectability  !  "  So  saying,  in  a  fervor  of  suspense  she 
threw  off  her  mask  and  fell  to  weeping. 

Stencill's  whole  appearance  changed.  cc  Heavens  !  "  he 
cried,  as  he  saw  her  young,  fresh  face,  lighted  by  imagina 
tion  and  sentiment,  very  beautiful.  Then,  "  Hush  !"  and 
he  sprang  to  the  door  and  closed  it.  "  My  wife  !  "  he  cried, 
in  a  low,  piercing  voice. 

The  words  stabbed  her,  but  it  was  not  so  much  that 
name  as  the  tone  in  which  it  was  uttered  that  sent  a  shaft 
of  despair  into  her  heart.  He  was  an  American,  and  there 
fore  of  the  Middle  Ages  of  sentiment.  He  was  in  love 
with  his  wife.  The  accent  of  his  emotion  proved  it.  She 
looked  up  at  him  a  little  haggardly.  She  must  rob  him,  and 
that  quickly,  or  her  reputation  would  be  gone  with  him. 
She  drew  out  her  pistol  with  a  forced  braggadocio  and 
pointed  it  tremblingly  at  his  head.  She  saw  on  the  moment 
that  at  this  demonstration  his  conscience  was  relieved. 

"  I  shall  not  disturb  Mrs.  Stencill,  and,  now  that  I  know 
who  is  in  the  house,  I  need  trouble  you  no  longer  with  my 
fictions.  Forgive  me  my  ruse  !  "  She  stepped  to  the  chif 
fonier  and  shoveled  the  trinkets  listlessly  into  a  pocket  of 
her  Inverness.  His  interest  in  her  had  been  extinguished 

[35] 


LADY   M EC H ANTE 


the  moment  he  discovered  her  sex.  Married,  and  still  in 
love  !  It  was  ridiculous,  effeminate,  anachronistic,  yet  the 
pose  fascinated  her.  She  must  have  time  to  think  it  over. 

StencilPs  keen  interest  in  the  waywardness  of  her  busi 
ness  exhibited  an  obvious  struggle  with  his  fear  of  her  dis 
covery.  His  voice  sank  into  a  hushed  double  piano  as  he 
said,  "  You  interest  me,  madam,  beyond  words.  Had  you 
been  the  man  you  seemed,  I  would  have  liked  nothing  bet 
ter  than  to  know  you  ;  we  could  be  much  to  each  other. 
And,  too,  I  am  very  curious ;  I  have  ideas  of  my  own  that 
might —  I  speak  in  all  modesty  —  assist  you.  But  I  confess 
I  am  in  an  uncomfortable  position.  You  understand  — 

"Perfectly,"  said  Lady  Mechante,  freezingly. 

"  Still,"  he  continued,  weakening  under  her  scorn,  "  under 
other  circumstances  —  you  might  call  upon  my  wife, 
perhaps." 

"  Sir  !  "  she  cried,  with  a  fine  histrionic  scorn. 

u  Ah,  well,  of  course  !  "  he  assented.  u  I  remember  one 
of  Methuselah's  earliest  maxims  :  c  Never  introduce  female 
contemporaries.'  But  may  I  -not  ask  your  name  ?  " 

For  the  first  time  in  her  illicit  career  Florizelle  hesitated. 
She  even  blushed.  "  I  am  she  who  has  been  known  as 
Lady  Mechante,"  she  murmured,  casting  down  her  eyes. 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  exclaimed  the  other,  almost  aloud. 
Not  quite.  The  burden  of  a  presence  in  a  proximate  apart 
ment  still  cowed  him.  He  sat  down  on  his  bed  and  put  his 
head  in  his  hands. 

The  gesture  was  opportune.  When  he  looked  up  again 
his  visitor  had  vanished.  He  threw  open  the  door  and 
began  to  whistle  loudly,  but  out  of  tune,  an  insistently 
apologetic  melody. 


36] 


Chapter  Jftoe 

BUSINESS   IS   BUSINESS 

They  '//  pull  you  all  to  pieces  for  your  zvbim-zubams, 
Tour  garters  and  your  gloves  :  go  modestly  ! 

(The  Night  Walker.) 

SED  as  she  was  to  calling  Guy  Bounder  a 
"  cake,"  Mrs.  Gaillarde  could  not  deny  his 
gifts,  and  she  had  not  picked  him  for  a  stool- 
pigeon  without  a  good  opinion  of  his  powers 
of  mimicry.  He  was  not  half  bad  as  an 
actor,  his  form  was  plastic,  his  voice  capable 
of  much  distortion,  and  he  could  even  imitate  the  floating 
diminuendo  of  Lady  Mechanic's  quicksilver  laughter.  He 
had  her  mannerisms  by  heart,  as  when  she  sat  down  with  a 
gyratory  curl  of  her  skirt ;  he  had  caught  the  pat-a-tie,  pat- 
a-ta  tattoo  of  her  fingers,  the  tilt  of  her  chin,  and  her 
wavelike  step. 

So  it  it  was  that  his  first  attempts  at  impersonation  suc 
ceeded  miraculously,  and  his  studies  to  maintain  her  distin 
guished  prestige  did  her  no  little  credit.  Her  stock  went 
up  all  over  town,  as  she  was  found  to  be  more  than  ever 
amenable  to  complimentary  benefices.  Lord  Suddenleigh's 
generosity  induced  Guy  to  visit  at  Belgrave  Square  more 
often,  perhaps,  than  Florizelle  would  have  approved  had 
Florizelle  known,  but  Guy  gathered  other  valuables  besides 
"tenners"  and  "twenties,"  and  she  acquired  an  amount  of 
scandal  that  might  sometime  be  of  use  with  the  Honorable 

[37] 


LADT   M EC H ANTE 


Maude  Evelyn.  Bounder  found  an  easy  method  of  erasing 
Charley  Northbrooke's  poems  from  the  back  of  his  bank 
notes,  and  he  had  less  fear  of  the  Marquis  of  Newbury's 
jewels  than  did  his  principal.  Of  Colonel  Wetmore,  more 
later.  He  was  by  far  the  most  intractable,  but  as  he  was 
disgustingly  wealthy,  poor  Guy  could  not  keep  away,  as 
shall  be  seen  in  the  sequel. 

He  went  and  came,  then,  for  a  time  in  blissful  content, 
too  busily  employed  to  notice  Lady  Mechanic's  delin 
quency.  No  offers  would  induce  his  favor  even  to  the 
extent  of  a  kiss.  It  goes  without  saying  that  he  did  not 
allow  the  mask  to  be  dropped  for  an  instant. 

All  this  while  he  trusted  Florizelle  as  a  dog  trusts  his 
master,  but,  once  on  the  path  of  wonder,  there  was  but  a 
single  destination.  Lady  Mechante,  in  her  proper  person, 
was  heard  of  no  more,  and  he  began  to  suspect  her  disap 
pearance.  The  spark  traveled  slowly,  but  at  last  it  came 
upon  some  inflammable  fibres  of  sensibility,  when  suspicion 
flamed  up,  burning  with  a  fire  colored  by  presentiment. 
Had  Florry  gone  wrong  ?  Enough  manhood  was  melted 
down  into  a  lump  of  resolve  to  give  his  fears  solidity,  and 
he  set  himself  to  hunt  the  lady  down  and  prove  her. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  found  his  opportunity.  He 
dropped  in  at  the  Adelphi  one  night,  and  there,  with  her 
eyes  glued  to  the  stage,  with  her  lace  handkerchief  ready 
for  an  explosion  of  emotion,  sat  Florizelle.  Behind  the 
footlights  the  actors  ranted  and  sawed  the  air,  and  for 
some  time  Guy  could  not  distinguish  the  particular 
attraction  to  his  lively  and  affected  patron.  As  the  scene 
changed,  my  Lady  Mechante  grew  distraite,  but  the  en 
trance  of  Mr.  Mortimer  Stencill,  spouting  a  bombastic 
soliloquy,  drew  her  from  her  reverie,  and  her  opera  glasses 

[38] 


.B  [AS/NESS    LS 


flew  up.  This  was  enough  for  Bounder,  and  he  did  not 
notice  the  interested  occupant  of  the  opposite  box,  a  lady  of 
sprightly  figure,  dressed  in  the  outrageous  good  taste  that 
becomes  the  American  woman.  She  seemed  a  good- 
natured  observer  of  the  ingenuous  occupation  of  her  -y/j-tf- 
v/V,  and  laughed  merrily  in  a  manner  that  to  the  pit  seemed 
inconsequent. 

A  word  at  the  box-office  gave  Guy  Bounder  informa 
tion  of  the  star's  abode,  and  two  hours  later,  after  a  game 
of  draughts  at  the  Cafe  Royal,  he  hailed  a  cab  and  set  off 
for  Something  Crescent,  Westbourne  Grove.  The  equi 
page  was  dismissed  at  the  Royal  Oak,  and  Guy  set  out  on 
foot  into  the  fastnesses  of  Bayswater.  The  house  was 
found  without  difficulty,  and  he  smiled  to  see  a  front  upper- 
story  room  alight. 

He  was  a  u  second-story  "  man  of  old,  and  the  veranda 
columns  were  no  trick.  From  the  top  of  the  portico  he 
had  a  clear  view  into  the  room  through  a  slit  between  -the 
curtains,  and,  by  a  rare  chance,  the  window  was  slightly 
open.  There,  in  very  fact,  was  Stencill,  ensconced  in  an 
easy-chair,  smoking  a  perfecto,  conversing  with  someone 
in  evening  dress,  someone  whose  back  was  turned.  This 
person  still  wore  a  hat,  and  was  not  smoking,  nor  was  the 
glass  propinquous  upon  the  table  filled.  These  things  were 
disagreeably  suspicious. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  Stencill  was  saying,  "if  you  insist 
upon  my  calling  you  that,  I  can't  put  you  out,  you  know, 
but  I  assure  you  I  am  trepid.  You  have  seen  enough  of 
me  to  know  I  am  unique.  I  am  a  man  who  can  love  but 
once.  A  platonic  affection  ?  If  you  like,  and  if  you  still 
believe  in  such  follies,  well  enough.  You  are  still  young 
and  enthusiastic.  I  have  paid  for  that  farce  in  my  day, 

[39] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


and  if  you  are  willing  to  take  the  consequences,  I  can't 
help  saying  that  I  like  you  !  " 

"And  you  the  only  interesting  man  in  London!"  said 
the  other,  while  Guy  gasped  at  the  timbre  of  the  voice 
which  uttered  this  familiar  sentiment.  "  What  hope  is  left 
for  me  ?  For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  have  made  a  fool 
of  myself.  To  think  of  Lady  Mechante,  Lady  Mechante, 
forcing  her  attentions  on  a  man  !  "  She  turned  her  profile; 
it  was  indeed  she,  and  Guy  felt  the  portico  sway  under 
him. 

"  Florry,  Florry  here,  for  pleasure  !  "  he  muttered. 
"  Calling  on  this  play-actor,  free  ?  My  Gawd  !  " 

"  I  have  had  a  strange  life,"  she  went  on,  u  cursed  by 
the  continuous  desire  for  human  interest.  Men  may  make 
their  own  friends,  aye,  and  keep  them  with  no  fear.  We 
women  are  bound  to  take  what  the  gods  send  us.  The 
good  old  days  are  gone  by,  when  '  the  males  compete  and 
the  females  select.'  I  have  vibrated  between  the  limits  of 
Society  and  Crime.  I  have  ranged  high  and  low  ;  I  tried 
even  marriage  !  I  have  found  you  too  late.  What  is  left  ? 
More  dinners  at  Madame  Qui-Vive's  ?  I  was  no  more 
born  for  those  ceremonials  than  for  the  conspiracies  of 
Soho  Square.  I  have  had  my  fling,  and  I  have  lost. 
Mon  Dieu  !  How  I  have  fallen,  to  pursue  you  like  this  !  " 

"  There  are  others ;  I  am  by  no  means  the  only  man 
with  an  imagination  in  the  world,"  Stencill  protested,  mildly. 
"  The  way  is  open  for  you  to  explore ;  there,  too,  lies 
America." 

u  I  am  fastidious,"  she  responded.  "  I  want  all  or 
nothing  —  that  is,  all  my  own  way.  Tell  me,  do  you 
believe  in  Affinities?"  she  asked. 

"  Affinities  !"     and    Mortimer    Stencill    hid    his    smile. 


BUSINESS   IS   BUSINESS 


"  Why,  my  dear,  I  am  thirty-three  !  Go  seek  a  chame- 
lone.  You  may  find  Affinities  to  throw  at  the  birds  !  My 
dear  child,  heaven  forgive  me,  but  I  believe  you  are  an 
American  !  " 

Guy  Bounder  heard  no  more.  His  soul  waNs  sick  with 
this  sentimentality.  Hardly  had  he  left  the  house,  however, 
before  Mrs.  Stencill  opened  the  door  where  the  two  were 
conversing,  and  entered  with  a  smile.  Mortimer  started 
guiltily.  As  for  Lady  Mechante,  she  had  foregone  the 
possibility  of  embarrassment  long  ago. 

u  Tim,"  said  the  hostess  of  this  somewhat  dizzy  group, 
"  pray  present  me  !  " 

She  did  not  wait,  however,  but  went  gaily  up  to  Florizelle 
with  a  great  show  of  frankness.  Lady  Mechante  rose  and 
met  her.  The  two  kissed  theatrically.  Mortimer  Stencill 
looked  on  puzzled.  Then  his  face  brightened. 

"Well,"  said  Florizelle,  "  it's  up  to  you,  Mrs.  Stencill!" 
She  had  not  been  calling  upon  the  American  twice  a  week 
without  imbibing  a  few  new  metaphors. 

"  Why,"  began  Roberta  Stencill,  "  you  see,  my  dear,  it 's 
no  sort  of  use.  I  knew  it  would  n't  be,  in  the  beginning, 
but  I  did  so  want  dear  old  Tim  to  have  a  good  time.  He  's 
so  romantic  that  it  seemed  a  shame  to  have  him  all  to  my 
self,  and  yet  he  's  utterly  incapable  of  an  actual  affair.  His 
sentiment  is  all  theoretical.  You  are  a  creature  of  action  — 
I  can  see  that,  my  dear  —  and  I  knew  you'd  never  believe 
it  if  I  told  you  how  partial  Tim  was.  He  's  done  you  good, 
and  you  've  done  him  good.  So  now  I  don't  see  why  we 
can't  all  three  have  a  good  time  together.  Bless  you,  you 
need  n't  call  !  You  may  burgle  us  to  your  heart's  content ; 
the  more  scandal  the  better  in  our  business.  But  the  im 
mediate  fact  is  that  there  's  been  a  man  outside  your  win- 

[4'  ] 


-4 


LADT   M EC H ANTE 


o~ 


^ 


dow,  listening.  I  thought  you  'd  like  to  know.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  he  fainted  away  and  fell  off  the  roof  of  the  por 
tico.  Anyway,  he's  gone,  and  he  left  this  behind."  She 
pointed  to  a  small  but  exquisitely  tooled  silver  lantern.  It 
bore  a  monogram  — u  G.  B." 

11  Guy  Bounder  !  "  cried  Lady  Mechanic.  "  He  was 
here,  and  he  listened  ?  " 

"With  interest,"  said  Roberta  Stencill.  "As  much  as 
mine,"  she  added,  naively. 

u  It  was  a  psychological  moment  !  "  said  Mortimer. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Lady  Mechante,  "  it  was  climacteric." 


QO, 

oS 


-^ 

Q° 

^ 


Chapter  is>tx 

A  SCANDAL  IN  SUSSEX  SQUARE 

O,  tbou  abominable,  loathsome  gargarism  ! 

(The  White  Devil.) 


days  after  this  the  "All  Smoke  and 
No  Fire  "  company  finished  its  engagement 
at  the  Adelphi,  and  the  actors  and  actresses 
of  the  troupe  had  their  farewell  dinner  at 
Kettner's.  Mr.  Stencill,  true  to  the  Quix 
otic  chivalry  of  his  continent,  had  dined 
there  with  his  wife.  He  was  a  monomaniac  on  the  sub 
ject  of  connubial  faith.  Mrs.  Stencill  shared  his  views, 
moreover,  and  the  two  kept  up  the  national  pose  with 
childlike  confidence. 

They  returned  from  this  banquet,  on  foot,  at  two  in  the 
morning,  fascinated  by  the  secret  charms  of  the  deserted 
city,  now  vacant  as  a  beach  at  low  tide.  Now  and  again  the 
jingling  note  of  a  passing  hansom  sang  from  a  distant  square 
like  the  cry  of  a  belated  October  mosquito.  Hardly  a  light 
was  visible  save  the  row  of  lamps  that  divides  the  traffic 
and  guides  the  eastward  vehicles  down  into  the  constellation 
of  islands  at  the  Piccadilly  archipelago.  The  Circus  was  a 
polar  sea  of  white  electric  light  as  they  crossed,  and  above, 
the  stars  sprang  for  a  few  hours  from  their  daily  eclipse  as 
the  curtain  of  smoke  and  vapor  thinned.  Piccadilly  was 
theirs  alone,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  The  very  houses 
seemed  to  sleep. 

[43] 


LADY   MECHANTE 


They  took  the  path  across  Hyde  Park,  along  the  Ser 
pentine,  and  out  the  Victoria  Gate,  talking  ever  of  Lady 
Mechante ;  of  the  absurd  incongruity  of  a  lady  with  a  tem 
perament  in  this  supercivilized  town;  of  her  tantalizing 
efforts  to  find  a  man  of  her  mettle.  She  was  a  sport,  a  hy 
brid,  exotic  to  the  anemic,  hypercultivated  hothouse.  Peril 
was  in  store  for  her. 

They  crossed  toward  Sussex  Square,  and  there,  as  a  car 
riage  flashed  past,  gently  trotting  round  the  ring,  Roberta 
pressed  the  arm  of  her  husband. 

"  See,  the  green  brougham  !  "  she  cried.  "  I  saw  it  from 
the  Park ;  it  has  been  round  three  times  since  I  first  looked. 
It  must  be  waiting  for  Lady  Mechante.  Let 's  wait  and 
see  her." 

As  she  spoke  the  carriage  came  again  into  view,  travel 
ing  like  a  star  about  its  orbit,  hugging  the  curb  by  the  iron 
palings.  The  two  walked  slowly,  circling  in  an  opposite 
direction  round  the  Square. 

They  had  hardly  completed  the  circuit,  however,  when 
the  front  door  of  a  house  in  Stanhope  Street  directly  op 
posite  was  suddenly  flung  open  with  violence,  displaying  a 
square  of  brilliant  light  in  the  facade  of  the  residence. 
Silhouetted  against  this  background  was  a  confused  mass  — 
human  beings  intermingled  in  a  preposterous  skirmish,  from 
which  arms  were  flung  and  legs  gesticulated.  The  melee 
was  over  in  a  moment,  the  door  was  slammed  with  a  jar, 
locking  the  house  in  darkness,  while  a  frenzied  figure  flung 
down  the  steps. 

Whether  man  or  woman  could  not  be  determined  at  first, 
though  the  grotesque  form  bore  a  skirt  and  the  remnants  of 
a  hat  waved  from  a  wig  atop  the  disheveled  head.  It  tot 
tered  into  the  light  of  a  lamp-post,  staggered,  and  then 

[44] 


A    SCANDAL    IN   SUSSEX   SQUARE 


made  at  a  sharp  run  for  the  brougham  swinging  into  sight. 
The  upper  half  of  the  creature  proclaimed  manhood,  yet 
the  gown  hung  at  his  belt  and  the  hat  was  cast  loose  upon 
the  pavement.  He  was  almost  bare  from  the  waist  up,  and 
round  his  bleeding  breast  circled  the  remnants  of  a  pair  of 
stays  and  a  few  fripperies  of  lace  and  ribbon.  He  ran  like 
a  madman,  an  unholy  spectacle,  through  the  stillness  of 
the  night,  swearing  horribly  in  strange  coster's  oaths.  He 
sprang  upon  the  brougham  and  wrenched  at  the  door. 

Then  from  the  window  a  pretty  head  appeared,  and  a 
ripple  of  quicksilver  laughter  rang  out.  Lady  Mechante 
had  come  again  by  her  own.  It  was  a  ridiculous  colloquy. 
The  lady  tittered  to  die  at  his  plight,  but  kept  the  door  of 
the  carriage  locked,  while  the  driver  fingered  his  whip 
apprehensively. 

"Oh,  you  guy,  Guy!"  she  screamed.  "I  told  you  to 
look  sharp  for  the  mask,  and  be  careful  of  Colonel  Wet- 
more.  You  '11  eavesdrop  on  me,  on  Lady  Mechante,  will 
you?  You'll  report  my  case  in  Soho,  my  dear  fellpw,  will 
you  ?  Why  could  n't  you  attend  to  your  own  affairs, 
Bounder?  I'm  shocked.  You  're  a  sight  for  the  gods  — 
not  for  a  lady  —  my  friend.  Get  to  the  Park,  you  inebri 
ated  tatterdemalion  !  "  She  rang  the  electric  bell  for  the 
driver. 

Bounder  broke  out  into  oaths,  fuming  furious.  He  put 
his  fist  through  the  carriage  window,  and  the  broken  glass 
tinkled  merrily  against  the  cobbles.  He  dodged  back  then, 
but  not  quick  enough  to  escape  the  lash  of  the  coachman's 
whip,  which  landed  on  his  bare  back,  curling  him  up  in 
agony.  They  were  off  at  a  hand  gallop  forthwith,  brougham, 
driver,  and  the  fair  passenger  inside  whirling  past  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Stencill,  gaping  on  the  pavement.  Guy  stood,  an  in- 

[45] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


human  scarecrow,  in  all  his  outrageous  circumstance,  fair  in 
the  middle  of  the  street,  and  continued  his  profanity,  ges 
turing  the  moon.  He  had  dropped  his  h's  with  his  waist 
and  corsage,  and  his  talk  was  the  talk  of  a  bargee  the  next 
morning  of  a  mad  Bank  Holiday. 

Mortimer  Stencill  drew  his  wife  away,  though  there  was 
not  a  word  audible  that  a  lady  should  understand,  and  left 
the  victim  to  his  apostrophe.  But  at  the  next  turning  the 
indecent  nightmare  shot  by  them,  sprinting  like  a  demon, 
a  marvel  of  preposterous  deshabille,  an  outrage  to  sound 
and  sight,  dripping  lingerie  and  buttons,  as  he  galloped 
to  the  top  of  the  street  and  collided  with  a  policeman 
at  the  turning.  As  the  couple  went  out  of  sight,  officer 
and  maniac  were  locked  in  each  other's  arms,  and  a 
shrill  whistle  was  being  echoed  from  several  directions 
at  once. 

The  actor  and  his  spouse  were  by  this  time  too  weak  to 
talk,  and  they  went  home,  borne  by  gasps  and  concussions 
of  inane  hysteria.  It  was  too  late  to  sleep,  for  they  were 
to  take  the  2.15  train  at  Victoria  for  Southampton,  and  for 
several  hours  the  husband  and  wife  sat  in  excited  conver 
sation  on  the  freaks  and  madcap  perfervor  of  my  Lady 
Mechante.  That  her  rope  was  short  they  could  not 
but  believe.  The  capture  of  Bounder  would  inevitably 
compromise  her,  and  the  hue-and-cry  would  surely  set 
the  fashionable  districts  of  London  by  the  ears.  She  was 
doubtless  betrayed  at  Soho  Square  long  before  this,  and 
Fate  must  soon  overtake  her  who  had  mocked  high  and 
low. 

"Tim,"  Mrs.  Stencill  said,  finally,  "  we  must  rescue  her. 
It  would  be  a  shame  to  let  such  a  spirit  languish  here,  even 
were  she  to  escape  from  the  clutches  of  the  law.  What  an 

[46] 


A    SCANDAL   IN  SUSSEX   SQUARE 


American   she  would  make  !     What  a  wife  for  some  nice 


man  ! 


"  What  a  wife,  indeed  !  "  mused  Mortimer.  "  A  man 
with  nerve  and  sentiment  might  tame  her,  if  he  lived." 

"  Nonsense  !  You  won't  understand.  What  is  her  vi 
vacity  but  the  reaction  from  the  canons  of  this  effete  com 
munity  ?  In  the  West  her  eccentricity  would  never  be 
noticed.  And  give  her  the  sight  of  real  men  and  women 
living  sane  and  untrammeled  lives,  I  am  sure  she  would  be 
a  new  woman.  She  has  balked  and  kicked  over  the  traces 
because  she  felt  the  restraint,  but  once  show  her  liberty  and 
she  will  be  tractable  enough.  She's  a  thousand  times  too 
good  for  London." 

u  She's  too  good  to  be  true,  I  'm  afraid.  Have  you  any 
amiable  snake-charmer  or  lion-tamer  in  mind,  my  dear  little 
match-maker  ?  "  he  added. 

"  Tim,  don't  jolly  me,  for  I  'm  in  earnest,"  she  protested. 
"As  to  my  plans,  you  shall  see.  The  first  and  immediate 
thing  is  to  find  her  and  get  her  away."  She  rose  and  put 
on  her  hat. 

Mortimer  Stencill  followed  her,  as  was  his  wont,  being 
an  ideal  American  husband.  There  was  no  denying  her  in 
this  mood.  It  was  now  nearly  five  o'clock.  They  hap 
pened  on  a  cab  at  their  very  door,  and  drove  at  a  well-tipped 
pace  in  the  direction  of  Bloomsbury. 

"  Are  you  going  to  break  in  ?  "  he  asked,  as  they  passed 
out  of  Holborn. 

Mrs.  Stencill  made  a  mouth.  u  If  necessary,"  she 
said. 

But  it  was  not  necessary.  The  front  door  of  No. 
31  Fitzroy  Street  was  seen,  as  they  drew  up,  to  stand 
ajar. 

[471 


LADT   M  ECU  ANTE 


"  We  must  hurry,"  cried  the  wife.  "  I  am  afraid  we  are 
too  late." 

They  ran  up  the  steps  and  in  unhindered.  But  as  they 
reached  the  second  landing  a  jaded,  hispid  French  maid  con 
fronted  them. 

"  Eet  ees  ze  poleece  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  am  ready  ;  but 
here-zere  ees  nozzing  !  " 

There  was,  indeed,  nothing  in  Lady  Mechanic's  boudoir 
but  the  wreck  of  a  luxuriant  apartment,  still  odorous  with 
violets.  Every  stick  of  furniture  had  been  removed  — 
hurriedly,  it  might  seem,  by  the  evidence  of  the  scratches 
and  rags  of  tapestry  on  the  walls.  In  my  lady's  chamber 
a  few  gowns  still  remained ;  the  maid  had  evidently  been 
interrupted  in  her  work. 

Mrs.  Stencill  then  explained  that  she  was  a  friend  of  the 
vanished  mistress,  and  anxious  to  help  her  away. 

u  Ah,  zat  ees  diffairente,"  said  Suzette.  "  But  vraiment, 
I  not  know  !  My  lady  left  one  hour  ago,  een  a  hurry,  yes! 
She  deed  not  say  to  where  I  should  send  ze  things,  but  I 
veesh  not  ze  poleece  to  get  everyzing.  So  I  have  removed 
them.  Perhaps  I  shall  hear,  perhaps  not.  £hie  voulez-vous 
que  je  fasse  ?  " 

There  was  no  time  to  wait.  The  gay  bird  had  flown, 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stencill  returned  sadly  to  their  house  in 
Something  Crescent,  in  bare  time  to  get  their  own  impedi 
menta  ready  for  the  train.  They  made  the  trip  down  to 
Southampton  quietly,  in .  a  first-class  compartment.  The 
only  other  occupant  was  a  little  old  lady  with  gray  hair  and 
a  deep  mourning  veil.  It  seemed  she,  too,  was  bound  for 
the  American  steamer,  for  she  was  still  with  them  when  the 
tender  put  off.  But  they  did  not  see  her  again  for  several 
days,  owing  to  Mrs.  Stencill's  mal  de  mer. 

[48] 


A   SCANDAL   IN  SUSSEX   SQUARE 


It  was  when  Roberta  crawled  down  to  the  dining-room 
for  dinner  on  the  fourth  day  out.  trembling  but  victorious, 

J  D 

that  she  found,  seated  opposite  her  at  the  table,  pink  of 
cheek,  curly  of  hair,  bright  of  eye,  and  with  an  inimitable 
expression  of  some  devil  turned  saint  —  who  but  my  Lady 
Mechanic  ! 


49] 


o 


1500ft 


THE    WALKING    PEANUT 


Here  is  a  gentleman^  my  scholar^  whom  (for  some 
-private  reasons  me  specially  moving)  I  am  covetous  to 
gratify  with  title  of  master  in  the  noble  and  subtile 
science  of  courtship. 

(Cynthia's  Revels.) 


o 


o 


A 


Chapter 

THE    PEANUT    SHELL 

Then  were  my  thoughts  so  frail  an d  unconfirmed, 
A?id  I  was  chained  to  follies  of  the  world. 

(The  Jew  of  Malta.) 

jIFT  the  city  of  San  Francisco  block  by 
block,  and  you  would  have  found  no  queerer, 
quainter,  crookeder  a  house,  nor  a  house  in 
worse  array,  of  more  tatterdemalion  an 
aspect  and  cock-sided  disrepute  than  the 
chunk  of  queer  cottage  at  No.  1031  Vallejo 
Street.  Knock-kneed  and  out  of  elbows  as  it  was,  it  clung 
to  the  very  pinnacle  of  Russian  Hill  with  a  pitch  of  conceit 
ridiculous  to  behold,  the  scandal  of  its  upright,  straight-sided 
neighbors,  crazy  and  rough  as  a  peanut  shell  on  an  elephant's 
back.  It  stood,  leaning  uneasily  on  rotting  foundations, 
little  as  a  trunk,  battered,  spattered  and  tattered  with  dust, 
fog,  and  the  vandal  gaminerie  of  the  vicinity.  The  place 
cornered  on  a  little  cul-de-sac  known  to  the  hardy  climbers 
of  the  Hill  as  Florence  Street,  and  its  windows,  when  not 
blinded  by  the  missiles  of  the  neighboring  hoodlums,  looked 
impertinently  across  the  Golden  Gate  to  Mount  Tamalpais, 
sweeping  the  slopes  of  the  Presidio,  the  Bay  of  San  Fran 
cisco,  the  Oakland  foothills,  and  the  Contra  Costa  shore, 
three-quarters  of  a  circle  of  panorama  fit  for  the  outlook 
from  an  imperial  porphyry  palace. 

[53] 


LADY   MECHANTE 


This  pert  box  once  contained,  for  a  matter  of  some  ten 
hours  a  day,  the  very  appropriate  person  of  our  hero. 

Reader,  Mr.  Roulhac  Braghampton  !  Manufacturer  of 
the  best  hand-made  folly  the  city  of  San  Francisco  afforded 
at  that  time,  a  purveyor  of  assorted  deviltries,  with  a  repu 
tation  amongst  the  mischief-makers  of  his  club  and  caste 
attained  only  after  years  of  persistent  frivolity.  As  highty- 
tighty  a  gambolier  as  ever  was,  was  Roulhac  ;  a  wag,  a 
madcap,  and,  in  his  own  way,  a  bit  of  a  fop  to  boot ;  in 
short,  an  accomplished  devil-may-care,  thoroughly  aban 
doned  to  his  harlequin  peccadillos. 

Cooped  in  his  ramshackle  cage  during  the  first  quarter  of 
every  day,  this  precious  Braghampton  fighting-cocklet  was 
known  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  summit  of  Russian  Hill  as  a 
queer  bird  who  flitted  from  window  to  window  during  the 
forenoon,  in  scant  attire,  or  sat  gazing  seaward  at  his  table, 
writing,  writing,  writing.  He  was  wont  to  appear  later 
upon  the  deck  of  his  rear  porch,  lathered  and  toweled, 
addressing  a  scrap  of  broken  mirror,  and,  towards  noon, 
he  was  likely  to  emerge  in  long,  yellow  mackintosh,  or, 
mayhap,  if  the  sun  shone,  in  more  befitting  raiment,  to 
descend  into  the  gayety  of  the  lower  town.  The  prowling 
Arab  of  the  Hill  dubbed  him,  thereat,  "  Walking  Peanut," 
for  obscure  reasons,  and  with  this  epithet  he  was  always 
hailed  in  scurrilous  sing-song  as  he  made  down  the  twenty- 
three  slimy,  slippery,  sloping,  heartrending  wooden  steps 
to  the  greasy  incline  which,  at  the  lower  end  of  this  Vallejo 
Street  block,  did  service  for  a  sidewalk. 

It  was  an  October  morning,  well  along  towards  ten 
o'clock,  when  Roulhac  arose  and,  as  usual,  pulled  on  a 
mangy  red  flannel  bath-robe  and  peered  down  the  steep 
little  two-foot  stair  in  his  hallway  to  see  what  Fate  had  sent 

[54] 


rcn 


y 


1ST 


LADY   MECHANTE 


him  by  way  of  the  post.  On  the  floor,  to  his  astonishment, 
was  a  litter  of  pale  blue  envelopes,  extending  from  the  door 
of  his  small  front  parlor  down  the  narrow  passage  to  the 
entrance  to  the  middle  room.  His  half-awakened  eyes 
blinked  at  the  miracle,  for  this  morning's  mail  was  suspi 
ciously  prolific  even  for  his  customary  profusion,  and  he 
shuffled  down  in  his  Chinese  slippers  and  waded  luxuriously 
through  the  flood  of  missives.  The  welter  of  letters  car 
peted  the  bare  hall  with  blue ;  all  the  envelopes  appeared 
to  be  directed  in  the  same  hand,  and  were  alike  in  shape 
and  color ;  they  were  obviously  the  work  of  one  Titanic 
correspondent ;  the  script,  it  is  needless  to  say,  was  boldly 
feminine. 

He  scuffed  them  together  in  a  noble  armful,  ascended 
and  laid  them  on  his  sitting-room  table,  disposing  them  as 
one  spreads  a  game  of  solitaire,  in  rows  of  sevens  ;  there 
were,  in  all,  fifty  communications  —  a  very  debauch.  In 
the  intervals  of  his  matutinal  occupation  he  crept  often  to 
the  hoard  arid  cast  hungry  eyes  at  the  feast.  After  his  tub, 
while  he  was  cooking  his  bubbling  pint  of  brown  chocolate, 
as  the  kindling  lighted  in  his  toy  fireplace,  and  during  the 
inspiration  of  his  first  cigarette,  he  came  and  returned,  sav 
ing  epicurean  investigation  until,  thoroughly  prepared  for  a 
new  day,  he  bolstered  himself  upon  his  couch  and  disembow 
eled  the  messengers  of  this  new  flirtation,  one  by  one,  with 
a  paper-cutter. 

See  Mr.  Roulhac  Braghampton,  very  quiet  now,  envel 
oped  by  the  invisible  smoke  of  incense,  for  the  letters 
breathed  the  sweet  odor  of  flattery  and  promise.  So,  while 
he  inhales  the  perfume,  let  us  whisper  aside  that  Roulhac 
was,  with  all  his  gentlemanly  roystering,  as  bold  a  carpet 
knight  as  ever  let  loose  a  glance  at  a  fair  widow  or  stormed 

[56] 


W^V^F 


O 


PEANUT  SHELL 


a  battery  of  kisses  on  a  corner  of  the  staircase.  He  was 
what  is,  in  feminine  parlance,  termed  u  promiscuous," 
which  means  that  he  earned  his  spurs  only  after  several 
engagements.  He  was  as  one  who  always  travels  with  a 
gun  ;  at  the  first  sight  of  game  he  shot ;  he  was  never  un 
prepared.  An  open  door  was  to  him  an  unmistakable  invi 
tation  to  enter,  a  glance  from  a  saucy  eye  drew  him  on  as 
by  a  cord  ;  in  short,  Roulhac  lived  well  along  the  line,  sharp 
and  fit  for  any  emergency. 

But  he  blanched,  in  spite  of  himself,  before  this  fusillade. 
His  correspondent  nearly  prostrated  him  with  her  shrapnel, 
and  her  adjectives  exploded  in  his  brain  with  disaster.  He 
had  answered  her  advertisement  in  the  Matrimonial  Ex 
change,  as  debonairly  as  he  had  taken  up  four  thousand 
other  fancies,  in  response  to  the  piquant  diction  with  which 
her  text  was  strewn.  It  was  not  the  custom  in  the  Ex 
change  for  desirous  ladies  to  appeal  to  the  intellects  of 
amorous  aspirants.  Rather  did  they  probe  the  masculine 
appetite  with  specific  details  of  physical  conformity.  They 
wrote  themselves  down,  for  the  most  part,  as  "  five  feet  six 
inches"  and  as  "130  pounds";  they  proclaimed  them 
selves  "  dark-complected  "  and  as  possessing  a  "  kind  and 
affectionate  nature,"  and  one  and  all  specified  as  their  ob 
ject  "  a  wish  to  marry  a  suitable,  loving,  elderly  gentleman, 
of  temperate  habits  and  fond  of  home  life.  No  objection 
to  a  widower.  References  and  photos  exchanged." 

She  who  was  catalogued  in  the  Matrimonial  Exchange  as 
"  No.  2465,"  however,  demanded  "  wit,  the  education  of 
travel,  and  a  smooth-shaven  face."  She  claimed  the  pos 
session  of  a  "tolerable  sensibility  and  a  genuinely  natural 
figure,"  and,  in  all  simplicity,  she  wanted  "  only  to  be 
adored."  What  wonder  this  bait  led  Mr.  Braghampton 

[57] 


1 


LADY   MECHANTE. 


,0 


into  the  trap  !  His  reply  had  been  swift  and  ardent,  the 
whole  steeped  in  a  rollicking  humor.  It  was  this  that  had 
let  down  upon  him  the  present  deluge,  and  Kitty  Carmine, 
as  she  signed  herself,  had  sent  him  enough  incentive  to  put 
him  through  all  his  paces  from  reckless  braggadocio  to  sen 
timental  pathos.  It  was  up  to  him  now  to  reflect  these  rays 
of  promise. 

Filling  his  pipe,  he  sat  down  at  his  casement  opposite 
the  eternal  violet  mountains  to  inscribe  his  responses.  To 
each  note  he  fitted  a  reply,  answering  mood  for  mood,  boast 
for  boast,  as  if  every  letter  were  written  by  a  separate  sub 
liminal  self,  colored  with  a  unique  personality. 

Before  this  he  had  regarded  women  as  u  easy."  They 
played  the  same  old  game,  he  was  wont  to  observe,  and  he 
knew  every  possible  gambit.  Well,  he  was  to  play  fifty 
games  at  once  now,  and  those  blindfold.  Would  she  take 
the  same  moves,  ask  the  same  immortal  questions  ?  Would 
she  ask  him  "WHY  he  loved  her  and  HOW  MUCH  he 
loved  her  and  for  HOW  LONG  ?  "  Would  she  take  his 
temperature  every  fifteen  minutes,  and  demand  the  answers 
to  the  questions  she  knew  were  unanswerable  to  a  man 
who  has  known  more  than  four  women  in  his  life  ?  So 
be  it.  He  could  still  counter,  parry  and  feint  and  lunge  ; 
what  did  he  care  ?  Softly,  as  his  pen  scratched,  he  hummed 
the  air : 

"  'T  is  well  to  be  on  with  the  new  love 
Before  you  are  off  with  the  old !  ' ' 

Nevertheless,  keen  as  he  was,  it  took  a  day  in  the  doing, 
this  amorous  battle,  and  the  afternoon  came  and  went  be 
fore  his  assault  was  mustered,  deployed  and  charged.  From 
the  Pacific  the  great  army  of  the  fog  had  massed  and  already, 

[58] 


THE   PEANUT  SHELL 


at  sunset,  the  vanguard  of  light  cavalry  mists  scouted  in 
through  the  Gate,  riding  high  and  gray  past  Point  Bonita, 
and  behind,  the  clouds  packed  and  started,  marching 
slowly  in  great  gray  volumes  past  the  Heads.  In  the  bay 
the  fight  was  imminent  between  Darkness,  Wind,  and 
Fog,  and  the  outposts  were  harried  with  confusion  as  the 
breezes  met  the  incoming  torrent.  The  night  fell,  and 
from  afar  the  wailing  siren  at  the  Lime  Point  light  sobbed 
into  the  sea.  Still  Roulhac  wrote,  blotted,  sealed,  and 
addressed. 

The  pangs  of  hunger  smote  him  below  the  belt  towards 
six  o'clock,  and  he  arose,  yawning,  to  appease  the  famine. 
As  he  sat  before  his  open  fire,  broiling  a  chop  upon  the  point 
of  a  Japanese  sword,  he  conjured  a  few  last  spells,  and, 
gulping  down  the  mutton  with  a  soft  shredded  biscuit  or  two 
dipped  in  raw  egg,  he  lighted  four  candles  and  despatched 
the  remaining  letters  with  swift  succession.  One  tenth  of 
a  grain  of  strychnia  in  a  glass  of  water  hastened  the  finish, 
and  he  arose  unsteadily,  looked  in  the  glass,  and  cursed 
gently,  soothingly  to  himself. 

"  Saint  Chrysostom  !  "  he  ejaculated.  "  I  look  like  the 
spanking  committee  of  an  orphan  asylum  after  a  hard  day's 
session  !  " 

In  an  access  of  pride  and  relief,  he  donned  evening  dress, 
stuffed  the  batch  of  letters  in  the  pockets  of  his  Inverness 
and  opened  his  front  door.  The  fog  swept  the  base  of  the 
hill,  extinguishing  the  constellation  of  lights  he  was  used 
to  see  below,  and  from  the  heart  of  the  city  a  jangle  of 
noises  arose,  piercing  the  vapor.  He  set  out,  with  a  vir 
tuous  glow  of  exhaustion.  It  was  as  if  he  had  earned 
money,  that  day,  for  he  felt  the  sting  of  accomplishment 
enliven  him.  After  all,  his  day  had  but  just  begun,  and  he 

[  59] 


br%j^ 


LADY   M EC H ANTE 


ventured    to    hope    for   a    new    marvel  before    he    saw    the 
Peanut  Shell   again. 

A  fat,  voluptuous  cigar  reconciled  him  with  the  sordid- 
ness  of  the  streets  as  he  walked  down  through  the  penumbra. 
His  hands  were  in  his  pockets,  and  he  strolled  leisurely  as 
if  to  meet  some  timely  appointment  with  Destiny.  To 
him  the  city  was  like  a  plum  cake,  and  he  was  a  John 
Horner  who  could  find  a  pleasant  mystery  at  every  block ; 
he  would  stick  in  his  thumb  when  he  felt  in  the  mood; 
just  now  he  must  digest  his  last  romance. 

As  he  dropped  down  the  steep  streets  the  cable  cars  toiled 
uphill,  clanging  with  gongs  ;  their  headlights,  piercing  the 
fog,  cast  long  arrows  of  yellow  glare.  Chinatown  sent  up 
her  odors  in  whiffs  of  stinking  oil,  opium,  and  joss-sticks, 
and  from  far  away  came  the  pum-pum  of  the  Salvation 
Army's  band.  He  made  a  detour  to  rid  himself  of  all  this 
activity,  and  struck  into  a  side  street,  but  always  working, 
as  if  by  attraction,  towards  the  focus  of  San  Francisco  life 
at  Market  Street  and  the  corner  by  Lotta's  Fountain.  Of 
a  sudden  the  Tenderloin  was  upon  him,  and  he  debouched 
into  Geary  Street  and  turned  towards  the  newspaper  towers 
looming  above  the  mist  towards  the  ferry. 

He  had  now  become  one  amongst  the  many  boulevardiers, 
alive  to  the  exhibition  of  street  and  pavement,  and  had  be 
gun  to  revolve  in  his  mind  some  plan  for  the  evening's 
entertainment.  He  was  in  the  middle  of  the  block  between 
Mason  and  Powell  Streets  when  he  was  startled  by  the  sight 
of  a  two-horsed  equipage  careering  across  his  path,  issuing, 
as  it  seemed  to  his  suddenly  excited  fancy,  from  the  very 
walls  of  the  house  in  front  of  him  !  On  inspection,  how 
ever,  he  saw  that  it  had  emerged  from  a  narrow  little  street 
which  penetrated  the  middle  of  the  block  and  whose  sides 

[60] 


THE   PEANUT  SHELL 


were  strictly  enclosed  by  the  walls  of  the  adjacent  houses. 
As  he  had  passed  that  opening  many  times  without  noticing 
the  place,  he  turned  in  to  explore  the  passage.  This,  at  the 
far  end,  ran  into  a  short  and  narrow  street,  both  of  whose 
extremities  were  closed  by  high  whitewashed  board  fences 
surmounted  by  wistaria  vines.  The  alley,  with  its  two  arms 
or  branches,  formed  a  sort  of  T,  and  was  called,  as  he  saw 
by  the  sign  on  a  lamp-post,  Key  Court. 

The  whole  was  paved  with  asphalt  without  sidewalks 
and  was  completely  shut  in  by  buildings,  most  of  which 
were  two-story  wooden  houses,  painted  white  with  green 
blinds,  in  the  style  of  the  earlier  days  of  the  town.  The 
air  of  the  place  offered  the  greatest  contrast  to  that  of  the 
busy  street  outside,  and  Roulhac  fell  to  studying  its  charms 
with  the  pride  of  discovery.  A  solitary  gas  lamp  cast  a 
glimmer  of  light  on  the  wet  pavement  by  the  junction  of 
the  ways,  but,  save  for  one  or  two  windows  that  shone 
faintly  behind  lace  curtains,  the  rest  of  the  court  hid  dim 
and  secret  in  the  mist. 

The  little  area  lay  remote  and  hugger-mugger  in  the 
center  of  the  town.  It  had  a  character  of  its  own  ;  it  was, 
one  might  say,  a  place,  if  not  with  a  past,  with  at  least  a 
future.  It  was  set  like  the  scene  on  a  stage  awaiting  the 
entrance  of  the  players.  With  a  low  hum  the  night  voices 
of  the  city  were  tuning,  like  the  strings  of  a  great  orchestra. 


[61 


O 


O 


Chapter  Itoo 

NO.  7,  KEY  COURT 

Such  a  drench  of  balderdash, 
Such  a  strange  carded  cunningness. 

(The  Woman's  Prize.) 

OULHAC  had  already  decided  to  return, 
when,  at  the  farther  end  of  the  court,  a 
door  was  thrown  open,  casting  a  fan  of 
yellow  light  into  the  street,  and  then 
quickly  and  silently  it  closed.  He  had 
just  time  to  spy  the  figure  that  emerged 
before  the  illumination  faded,  but  he  was  able  to  follow 
the  approach  of  the  issuant  through  the  obscurity  in  the 
shadow  of  the  wooden  fence.  As  he  drew  near,  Roulhac 
made  him  out  to  be  a  gentleman  in  a  frock-coat,  a  man  of 
some  sixty  years,  stout,  collarless,  with  a  bullet  head  half 
thatched  with  sponge-colored  hair.  He  ambled  down  the 
court  in  a  red-striped  shirt  and  suspenders,  intent  upon 
something  ahead  of  him,  at  which  he  gesticulated  authori 
tatively.  Still  nearer,  a  certain  stiffness  marked  him  as  a 
man  who  had  seen  military  adventure,  though  he  now  was 
of  a  spirit  decayed  with  alcohol.  His  eyes  bulged  with  an 
intent  passion,  but  from  them  downward,  his  face  fell  weak 
and  insignificant. 

He  zigzagged  down  the  way,  waving  and  pointing  his 
arms,  intent  upon  some  obsession,  some  wild  whim  Roulhac 
could  not  fathom.  Another  tack  across  the  court  brought 


WWW 


7 


COURT 


the  two  together  with   a  banging  buffet  which   seemed  to 
rally   the   old   man's   wits. 

His  face  loosened  and  he  grabbed  the  young  man's  arm 
with  a  tight  grip,  gazing  into  Roulhac's  eyes  with  a  start 
ling  fervor. 

"  For  God's  sake,"  he  cried,  in  a  thin,  wavering  voice, 
"  has  n't  Lee  come  up  yet  ?  "  He  turned  and  took  a  grand 
posture.  "  My  right 's  smashed  into  powder,  and  I  can't 
hold  ten  minutes  !  We  're  falling  back  all  along  the  line. 
Hell's  bells!  Where's  Lee?" 

Roulhac  stood  silent,  gaping  at  the  vagary,  at  a  loss  for 
words.  Then,  at  sight  of  a  brown  dachshund  coming  down 
the  court  with  much  divagation,  an  idea  came  into  his  head 
as  slyly  as  a  cartridge  is  slipped  into  a  pistol. 

"  There  's  Lee  !  "  he  exclaimed.  He  violently  turned 
the  .oldster's  head  and  swung  it  into  range  of  the  quadru 
ped.  The  ancient  stared  wildly,  but  his  gaze  was  aimed. 
Then,  as  the  suggestion  took  fire,  his  mouth  went  off. 

"  My  God,  it  's  Lee  !  Thank  the  Lord  !  See,  he  's 
swinging  into  position  !  Now  he  fires  !  There  's  a  charge, 
by  the  Sons  of  Hell  !  Look  !"  He  held  to  the  young  man 
with  the  grip  of  a  Nuremberg  virgin  and  followed  the  dog's 
silly  progress.  "  Gimme  cavalry  like  that,  and  I  '11  drive 
Satan  and  all  his  pea-green  devils  out  of  the  bleeding  Pit !" 
he  cried.  Then,  as  the  dog  turned  and  approached,  his  face 
grew  chalk.  "  Damnation  !  "  he  yelled  in  terror.  "  It 's 
not  Lee  !  It 's  the  enemy  !  They  're  coming  !  "  He  broke 
and  ran  back  a  few  steps,  then  rose  to  a  magnificent  ges 
ture.  "Rally,  rally,  we'll  hold  'em  yet!  Wait  till  they 
are  in  range,  now,  and  give  'em  purple  pestilence  !  " 

The  dog  crawled  up,  smelled  of  the  old  warrior's  leg,  and 
whined.  "  Let  'em  veil,"  he  cried,  "  we  '11  give  'em  some- 

[63] 


o 


A^3^33^ 


LADY    MECHANTE 


thing  to  yell  at  !  "  and,  with  a  vigorous  kick,  he  sent  the 
beast  howling  through  the  fog  in  a  somersault.  "  Victory  !  " 
he  cried.  "  Victory  !  " 

The  repetition  of  the  sentiment  exhausted  him,  and  he 
sank  upon  the  steps  of  the  nearest  house  and  put  his  hand 
to  his  head.  "  Water,"  he  murmured.  "  Water,  water  ! 
I  'm  wownded  !  " 

Dumfounded  at  the  spectacle  of  this  extravagant  drama, 
Roulhac  stood,  his  eyes  fascinated  by  the  extraordinary  dis 
play  the  old  man  had  vouchsafed.  That  this  blood-curdling 
ruffian  was  out  of  his  head  was  easy  to  perceive,  and  yet, 
somehow,  he  seemed  to  be  neither  entirely  mad  nor  vulgarly 
drunk.  The  show  moved  its  auditor  with  alternate  bewil 
derment  and  mirth.  In  its  juxtaposition  of  tragedy  and  com 
edy  the  by-play  was  like  an  atrocious  nightmare ;  Roulhac 
looked  to  see  the  actor  go  up  suddenly  in  smoke. 

But,  as  he  recovered  control  of  his  nerves,  the  old  man 
arose,  cast  an  important  glance  around,  and  marched  stol 
idly  down  the  court  with  blatant  pomp. 

At  this  moment  the  door  of  the  house  at  the  end  of  the 
court  was  reopened,  a  pair  of  feet  clattered  down  the  painted 
wooden  steps,  and  a  new  figure  came  hurrying  up  to  the 
lamp-post.  The  comer  was  of  a  more  commonplace  type, 
of  a  rounder  build,  with  puffy  cheeks,  a  florid  countenance, 
and  huge  gold  spectacles  under  bushy  eyebrows.  Alto 
gether,  he  was  the  type  of  a  retired  merchant  and  bon  viveur. 
He  was  hatless,  and  wore  evening  dress.  He  gave  Roulhac 
a  furtive,  purblind  glance  as  he  sweltered  by  ;  an  anxious 
look  it  was,  as  if  fearful  of  a  spectator's  curiosity.  He  ran 
up  to  the  military  stranger  and  snatched  his  arm,  as  a  mother 
captures  an  errant  child. 

"  Here,  come  along  back  with  me  !  "  he  cried,  wheedling. 

[64] 


AgJk^k^k^^ 


NO.    7 


COURT 


The  commander  turned  haughtily  and  looked  a  hole 
through  his  pursuer.  "  Salute  !  "  he  roared.  u  Who  the 
Dark  Brown  Hell  are  you,  by  God,  sir  ?  Got  any  de 
spatches  ?  Hand  'em  over;  damn  you,  what  are  you  snivel 
ing  at,  you  two-inch  caterpillar  ?  " 

The  man  humored  him,  though  he  towered  before  the 
august  and  terrible  frown  of  his  truant.  He  saluted  with  a 
semblance  of  martial  training.  "You  're  ordered  to  re- 

O 

treat,  sir.  You  're  to  come  back  with  me,"  he  said, 
apologetically. 

"  Retreat  ?  "  thundered  the  other.  "  By  the  Archangel 
of  Death  !  Who  dares  order  Colonel  Arthur  McArthur  to 
retreat  ?  I  '11  be  cut  into  primitive  patchwork  first ! 
Where's  General  Lee?" 

The  disqualified  messenger  was  nonplussed,  and  his  em 
barrassment  was  painful  to  behold.  His  charge  edged  grad 
ually  toward  the  street.  Already  a  curtain  or  two  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  way  had  been  run  up,  and  silhouetted 
heads  appeared  in  the  windows.  Roulhac  had  been  a  pas 
sive  spectator  of  the  comedy,  groping  in  his  mind  for  a 
solution  of  the  problem,  but  now  a  hint  sprouted  and 
blossomed,  and  he  entered  the  stage  as  a  god  out  of  the 
machine.  He  went  up  to  the  two  men  with  authority  and 
looked  straight  into  the  Colonel's  face. 

"  Here  's  Lee  !  "  he  said.  "  You  want  Lee,  do  you  ? 
By  Gideon,  I  '11  teach  you  to  mutiny  against  my  orders  ! 
Did  n't  I  send  word  for  you  to  fall  back  ?  "  He  turned  to 
the  other,  who,  with  an  eye  full  of  wistful  relief  at  the  un 
expected  reinforcement,  regarded  him  with  joy.  "  Captain, 
put  Colonel  McArthur  under  arrest !  Colonel,  we  '11 
attend  to  your  court-martial  as  soon  as  the  engagement  is 
over." 

<  [6;] 


Y 


LADT  MECHANTE 


The  Colonel  broke  down  into  a  whimper  and  put  his 
arms  round  the  messenger's  neck.  "  My  God,  I  'm  ruined  ! 
What  '11  I  do  ?  God  knows  I  only  wanted  to  die  at  my 
post !  You  know  that,  don't  you  ?  Shot  at  daybreak  for 
disobedience  of  orders  in  action  !  Oh,  Lord,  save  me  !  " 
The  other  led  him  back  with  comforting  words,  and  with 
this  wretched  parley  the  three  drew  to  the  door  of  the 
house.  The  situation  mastered,  Roulhac  lapsed  into  his 
place  as  spectator,  though  determined  to  see  an  end  of  the 
affair.  This  the  third  man  noticed,  and  his  discomfort 
returned. 

"  Much  obliged,  much  obliged,  I  'm  sure.  Thank  you 
very  much,  sir;  really  you've  helped  me  no  end.  You've 
been  of  great  assistance.  Here's  the  headquarters, 
Colonel,  four  steps  up,  now ;  there,  forward,  sir  !  I  'm 
much  obliged  to  you,  sincerely  obliged.  Forward,  Colonel, 
steady  !  Thank  you  no  end,  you  've  helped  out  tremen 
dously.  Right  ahead,  Colonel,  there  ! " 

He  pushed  the  prisoner  through  the  door,  half  closed  it 
and  stood  on  the  steps,  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his 
forehead,  glancing  nervously  inside  to  make  sure  his 
charge  was  safe,  and  evidently  anxious  to  be  rid  of  his  new 
acquaintance.  Inside  was  a  long  entry  laid  with  a  strip  of 
green  carpet.  There  were  several  doors  leading  from  this 
passage,  and  from  it  rose  a  staircase,  opposite  the  white 
vestibule  in  which  they  stood.  The  house,  however,  was, 
for  all  visible  signs,  deserted. 

Roulhac  was  ungentlemanly  enough  to  persist.  The 
means  this  fat  gentleman  in  dress  coat  had  taken  to  quiet 
his  charge  seemed  inconsistent  with  the  methods  of  a 
keeper  of  a  private  asylum,  and  the  Braghampton  curiosity, 
potent  and  paramount  when  excited,  was  sharply  bitten  by 

[66] 


rcr 


TO! 


J  r~i  L^f-b^-J  t—i  L-\H7^-J  Hl^'CT^O  n  \ 

NO.    7,    KEY   COURT 


the  mystery.  He  was  hard  against  an  adventure  and  was 
in  no  mood  to  be  fobbed  off  at  the  threshold.  He  deter 
mined  to  push  his  advantage. 

"You  'd  better  let  me  go  in  and  help  you  with  him,"  he 
suggested,  presently.  "  The  Colonel  needs  quieting,  and 
you  've  seen  that  I  can  handle  him.  I  '11  stay  with  you 
till  he  's  calmed  down." 

The  other  kindled  with  some  fear  or  suspicion  at  this. 
"  No,  no  !  "  he  said,  hurriedly,  with  his  eyes  still  fumbling 
inside  the  hallway.  u  I  can  manage  him  all  right  now. 
Good-night,  sir,  I  'm  very  much  obliged.  Thank  you  so 
much;  you've  been  a  great  help.  I  don't  know  what  I 
should  have  done,  really.  Good-night,  sir,  I'm  very  much 
obliged!"  and  he  entered  the  hall. 

His  fear  betrayed  him,  and  Roulhac  put  his  foot  delib 
erately  across  the  sill  to  prevent  the  closing  of  the  door. 
The  man  was  evidently  of  too  weak  a  fiber  to  resist,  if  bul 
lied,  and  he  was  already  shuffling.  But,  as  he  opened  his 
mouth  to  answer,  some  noise  from  within  braced  his 
resolve.  His  presence  was,  no  doubt,  imperatively  de 
manded,  and  he  faltered  between  the  two  fires,  fidgeting  in 
an  agony  of  uncertainty,  when  an  electric  bell  sounded, 
singing  a  thin  and  persistent  note.  The  man's  face  flushed 
crimson,  and  he  cast  an  uneasy  glance  upward. 

Then,  "  Gimme  your  card,"  he  said  to  Roulhac.  "  I 
can't  stay  here  a  minute  longer.  You  got  to  let  me  shut 
the  door.  I  '11  call  and  see  you  tomorrow,  I  swear  to  God 
I  will,  if  you  let  me  go  now.  Perhaps  they  '11  let  you  in, 
but  if  you  make  any  trouble  here  I  won't  be  responsible 
for  you." 

Roulhac  handed  over  a  card  with  his  address.  The  old 
man  grabbed  it,  and  said  :  "  You  keep  your  mouth  shut, 

[67] 


LADY   MECHANTE 


mind  you,  or  you  '11  be  sorry  !  "  Then,  with  a  swift  kick, 
he  attacked  the  foot  on  the  threshold  and  vigorously 
slammed  the  door.  The  next  minute  he  was  heard  run 
ning  upstairs. 

The  play  was,  for  the  moment,  over,  and  Roulhac 
Braghampton  retired  down  the  court,  his  head  whirling 
with  an  ecstasy  of  perplexity.  What  did  it  mean  ?  He 
would  know  tomorrow,  if  the  fat  man  kept  his  word ;  if 
not,  he  would  look  at  the  place  again.  He  noted  the 
number,  7,  an  easy  figure  to  remember,  appropriate  as  it 
was  to  mystery.  From  there  he  followed  the  procession 
of  doors.  Number  5,  a  discreet  abode,  whose  entrance 
was  half  hidden  by  a  low  awning ;  number  3,  a  one-story 
frame  that  bore  the  sign  "  Pedigreed  Belgian  Hares, 
Golden  West  Rabbitry,  P.  Goslinson."  Number  i  was 
dark  within,  but,  standing  at  an  angle  of  the  street,  was 
meagerly  illuminated  by  the  gas-lamp.  In  the  window  he 
perceived  a  young  woman  standing,  but,  before  he  had  had 
time  to  notice  more  than  her  light  blue  gown  and  her 
auburn  hair,  she  withdrew  from  her  post.  On  the  other 
branch  of  the  court  there  stood  a  Chinese  laundry,  a  stable, 
and  a  few  residences  similar  to  those  he  had  noticed. 


68 


Chapter 

MR.  BRAGHAMPTON  ENTERTAINS 

/  would  fain  see  the  careful  fool  deluded  ! 

(Bartholomew  Fair.) 

(OULHAC  BRAGHAMPTON,  at  an  hour 
too  scandalous  to  mention,  returned  to 
Vallejo  Street,  climbing  the  goat  path  that 
escalades  the  eastern  slope  of  Russian  Hill. 
At  the  top  he  stood  a  few  minutes,  orey-eyed, 
and  gazed  upon  the  display  below  him. 
San  Francisco  had  withdrawn  her  mantle  of  fog  and 
sprawled  at  his  feet  in  an  uneasy  posture.  The  little 
wooden  boxes  which  serve  for  architecture  in  this  strange 
land  covered  hill  and  valley,  clinging  to  slope  and  hollow, 
furrowed  with  straight  and  narrow  streets  defying  the 
topography  of  the  peninsula.  The  lights  sown  over  this 
vast  rolling  tract  of  mountainous  land  were  fading,  one  by 
one.  The  odors  still  came  up  from  Chinatown,  where  the 
Oriental  pot  bubbled  night  and  day,  but  fewer  noises  rose 
from  the  gut  where  Market  Street  lay.  A  solitary  loco 
motive,  important  and  demonstrative,  perfervent  with  the 
world's  traffic,  screamed  from  the  freight  sheds  on  Tar 
Flat. 

"  In  one  of  these  little  wooden  houses,  pale  and  flat 
under  the  stars,"  thought  Roulhac,  u  lives  the  mysterious 
Kitty  Carmine  !  In  which  one  ?  "  And  with  this  vision 
peaceful  at  his  door,  he  went  in  and  lay  down  upon  his  bed. 

[691 


rcn 


O 


Op 


MECHANTE 


He  was  awakened  at  nine  in  the  morning  by  his  tele 
phone  bell  and  groped  to  the  receiver,  a  dazed  emigrant 
from  Dreamland,  to  be  greeted  by  a  musical  feminine  voice 
that  he  did  not  recognize. 

"  Is  this  Mr.  Braghampton  ?  "   it  inquired. 

"  It  will  be,  as  soon  as  1  am  awake." 

"Wake  up,  then,  for  you  will  need  all  your  wits!" 

"  To  whom  am  I  indebted  for  this  reveille  ?  " 

"  E  Pluribus  Unum!    I  am  Fifty!  "  the  voice  proclaimed. 

"  Kitty  Carmine  !  "  was  the  entranced  return. 

"And  in  which  of  your  half-hundred  moods  do  1  find 
you  ?  " 

"In  fifty  new  ones  !  " 

"  I  believe  you.      You  're  accepted  !  " 

"  I  never  proposed  !  " 

"  Never  mind,  I  have  fifty  breach  of  promise  cases 
against  you  ;  you  can't  escape  !  "  mocked  the  little  voice 
in  the  wire. 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?  "   pleadingly. 

"  On  Hyde  Street,  of  course  !  Gosling  !  Do  you 
think  I  would  tell  you  ?  " 

"  When  shall  I  see  you  ?  " 

"  Soon,  but  you  '11  not  know  me." 

"  Nor  you  me,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  have  your  true  name,  you  know." 

"  Really  ?      How  ?  " 

"  Never  mind.  I  have  no  time  to  explain  now,  but 
you'll  learn  soon  enough.  Today  I  have  a  favor  to  ask 
you.  I  '11  know,  from  the  way  you  answer  me,  how  you 
value  the  affair.  Promise  me  you'll  assent  to  any  request 
that  is  made  you  this  day  !  " 

Roulhac  hesitated  while  the  nickel-plated  alarm  clock  on 

[70] 


"O 


MR.    BRAGHAMPTON  ENTERTAINS 


his  bureau  pulsed  thrice,  and  then,  casting  aside  discretion, 
which,  though  it  may  be  the  better  part  of  valor,  has  little 
place  in  a  modern  flirtation,  he  said,  "I  promise  !  " 

"  Good-bye,  then  !  "  said  the  lady.  "  I  '11  try  to  make 
it  worth  your  while  !  " 

Worth  while,  indeed  !  Though  Roulhac  Braghampton 
lives  to  be  a  nonagenarian,  though  he  palsy,  dote,  and 
crumple  as  the  fading  leaf,  he  will  yet  collapse  with 
hysteria  at  the  thought  of  all  she  brought  about.  Though 
he  grow  misogynist  or  gynophobiac,  one  woman  will  be 
free  from  his  disregard.  The  tinkle  of  Kitty  Carmine's 
laughter  shall  flow  when  the  falls  of  Minnehaha  dry  in 
their  unmade  bed. 

The  morning's  mail,  although  not  so  sensational  as  that 
of  the  day  before,  kept  Roulhac  busy  till  nearly  noon,  and 
he  was  still  in  his  dingy,  patched  red  flannel  bath-robe  when 
a  knock  at  the  door  apprised  him  of  the  advent  of  a  visitor. 
Few  hazarded  the  climb  to  the  summit  of  Russian  Hill 
without  urgent  business  or  ardent  affection,  and  the  occu 
pant  of  the  Peanut  Shell  suspected  that  his  fat  friend  of 
yesterday's  almost  Arabian  night's  entertainment  had 
honored  him. 

It  was  so  indeed,  and,  as  Mr.  Braghampton  answered 
the  summons,  he  beheld  the  unwieldy  guardian  of  No.  7 
Key  Court  in  the  Liliputian  front  yard  admiring  the  view 
through  his  spectacles,  still  panting  from  his  struggle  up 
the  ascent.  He  turned,  with  a  scarlet  face,  as  the  door 
was  opened. 

"  Ugh  !  "  he  said.  "  Devilish  climb,  this.  How-de-do, 
Mr.  Braghampton  ?  D'  you  really  live  up  here  with  the 
goats  ?  " 


^^A^P^qpA^^^^^^^ 

LADY   MECHANTE 


"  It  is  a  bit  desperate,"  Roulhac  replied,  "  but  we  get 
used  to  it,  and  the  inaccessibility  serves  to  prove  our 
friends.  I  'm  charmed  to  find  you  so  punctual.  Come  in, 
please.  There 's  hardly  room  for  two  and  the  mortgage, 
but  we  '11  make  a  fierce,  supernal  try  at  it !  " 

They  entered  the  cottage  and  sat  down  upon  a  pink 
couch  beneath  bookshelves.  The  visitor  cleared  his  throat. 

"  My  name  is  Rappp,"  he  began,  u  R,  a,  double  p,  p  ; 
three  />'s,  you  know." 

"  Extraordinary  way  to  spell  it,"  Roulhac  observed,  as 
comment  seemed  to  be  called  for. 

"  Quite  so,  quite  so ;  I  flatter  myself  it  is  very  unique, 
my  name.  But  you  '11  find  only  two  ^>'s  in  the  directory  ; 
they  positively  refuse  to  spell  it  correctly.  I  'm  often  ad 
dressed  that  way,  with  two  />'s  ;  in  fact,  people  sometimes 
use  only  one.  Beasts  !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Roulhac,  "  people  always  misspell  one's 
name,  you  know,  Mr.  Rappp,"  and  he  pronounced  the 
final  consonants  with  emphasis.  "  You  ought  to  think 
yourself  lucky  if  they  don't  call  you  c  Rapps.' ' 

"  They  do,  damn  'em  !  "  said  his  visitor. 

"I  must  say,"  Roulhac  went  on,  "I  am  consumed  with 
curiosity  in  regard  to  last  night's  adventure.  I  'm  so  glad 
you  took  the  trouble  to  call  up  here  and  do  me  the  honor." 

"  I  have  my  instructions  and  I  must  follow  them,  so 
you  must  n't  blame  me  if  I  don't  entirely  satisfy  you. 
You  see,  you  stumbled  into  something  that  's  usually  kept 
pretty  dark.  It  would  n't  do  to  have  the  thing  get  into  the 
papers,  you  know.  It 's  square,  and  all  that,"  he  hastened 
to  explain,  "  but  you  see  it  's  a  bit  new,  and  you  know  how 
the  yellow  supplements  take  up  a  novelty.  One  can't  be  too 
careful.  Besides,  it  's  nobody's  business  but  the  members'." 


,sAt::{^^ 

MR.   BRAGHAMPTON  ENTERTAINS 


"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  his  host.     "  A  club,  I  presume." 

"  Exactly,"  said  Mr.  Rappp.  "  A  gentleman's  club, 
and  strictly  private." 

"  What 's  the  little  game  ?  "  said  Roulhac,  gently. 

Mr.  Rappp  shook  his  head  so  violently  that  his  ears 
nearly  dropped  off.  "  Ob  !  No,  there  's  no  play  allowed. 
Looks  like  a  private  gambling-house,  you  think  ?  Not  at 
all,  sir  !  Merely  for  entertainment  and  culture." 

"  I  hardly  see  why  you  need  such  secrecy,"  Roulhac 
ventured. 

"  As  I  said,  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  tell  you.  I  will  say, 
however,  that  the  entertainment  provided  for  members  is 
not  only  extraordinarily  amusing,  but  practically  inaccessible 
to  ordinary  persons." 

"  Against  the  law,  perhaps,"  said  Roulhac,  blowing  forth 
a  smoke-ring. 

"  Wrong  again  !  "  said  Rappp.  "  Only  because  it's  un 
known,  and  not  understood  or  appreciated  if  it  were  n't." 

Roulhac  wondered  in  vain  what  new  and  mysterious 
pleasure  was  purveyed  in  No.  7  Key  Court.  "  Women?  " 
he  suggested,  at  last. 

u  Never ! "  cried  his  visitor.  u  Better  give  it  up. 
You  '11  never  guess.  /  could  n't,  though  I  'm  twenty  years 
your  senior,"  which  by  his  tone  appeared  to  give  the  final 
proof  of  impossibility. 

"  Then,  if  you  can't  tell  me  more  than  I  already  know, 
I  '11  be  quartered  if  I  see  why  you  have  taken  the  trouble 
to  climb  this  hill." 

"  See  here,"  the  other  explained  with  a  placating  gesture, 
"  I  was  ruffled  at  your  persistence  and  insistence  the  other 
evening,  I  confess.  I  ain't  used  to  it  from  boys  who  might 
be  my  sons.  But  in  spite  of  that  I  don't  know  as  I  blame 

[73] 


d  6 
O 


d 
O 


QQ^^QPvA^QpA^q^^ 

LADY   M EC H ANTE 


you.  Young  blood,  you  know,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing  ! 
I  liked  the  look  of  you.  Besides,  there  's  been  influence 
brought  to  bear,  when  your  name  was  read  on  the  card. 
We  want  new  members,  and  there  are  three  vacancies. 
And  it 's  damned  hard  to  find  the  right  sort  of  men,  too. 
It's  irregular  to  let  you  in  this  way,  and  all  that,  but  as  I 
say,  you've  got  a 'pretty  good  reputation  for  nerve  and 
cleverness,  and  so  on.  Not  enough  to  elect  you,  perhaps, 
but  you  can  be  a  candidate  if  you  want.  Would  you  like 
to  try  it  on  ?  I  warn  you  fairly,  you  may  be  blackballed, 
and  it 's  a  pig  in  poke  for  you ;  but  if  you  're  not  game  we 
don't  want  you.  See  ?  " 

Roulhac  did  not  see  at  all.  But  he  was  not  the  man  to 
look  too  hard  before  he  leapt.  He  had  done  ten  thousand 
madder  things  without  winking.  "Cost  much  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Merely  nominal.  Rent  of  clubhouse  and  salaries  of 
service.  But  we're  very  economical.  It  varies.  Ten 
dollars  a  month,  maybe." 

"All  right.  Me  for  the  fatal  plunge,"  assented  the 
scallawag.  "What  do  I  have  to  do  to  qualify  ?  " 

"I  '11  tell  you.  Glad  you  're  not  a  paper  sport.  You'll 
do,  all  right,  I  'm  sure.  Here  you  have  it.  You  're  to  be 
at  Campi's  restaurant  on  Clay  Street,  Friday  noon,  for 
lunch.  Take  the  third  table  in  the  second  row,  count 
ing  from  the  window.  See  here ! "  He  took  out  a  stub  of 
pencil  and  drew  a  diagram  on  a  sheet  of  paper.  "  Here  's 
the  front  by  the  windows  ;  upstairs,  you  understand. 
Here  's  the  stairway.  Row  of  tables  along  the  partition, 
row  of  tables  down  the  middle,  row  of  tables  on  the  side 
by  the  stairs.  You  're  in  the  middle.  First  table  by  the 
window,  second  table,  third  ;  there  you  are.  Number  the 
seats ;  one,  two,  three,  four.  You  sit  down  in  Number  three." 

[74] 


p-A qp  A ?-gj^y? 9, j^? 'r 


MR.    BRAGHAMPTON  ENTERTAINS 


Roulhac  folded  up  the  paper  and  put  it  into  his  pocket. 
"  But  what  if  it  's  taken  ?  " 

"  It  won't  be  taken,  we  '11  attend  to  that.  Besides, 
you  're  to  be  there  at  twelve,  sharp,  and  stay  till  two." 

"  Who  's  to  take  the  other  seats  ?  " 

u  Anybody.  Never  mind  them.  You  've  got  nothing 
to  do  but  eat  your  lunch.  Get  a  good  one.  Don't  try  to 
find  out  anything  more." 

"  Oh,  I  see  !  "  said  Roulhac.  "  The  club  members  will 
lunch  there,  too,  and  know  I  'm  to  be  present  and  watch 
me.  Godfrey  !  That 's  fey  !  " 

"  We  won't  judge  you  by  your  table  manners,  though, 
don't  be  afraid.  Meanwhile  we'll  look  you  up.  But  the 
members  want  to  see  a  man  before  they  let  him  in,  and 
naturally  they  don't  want  to  be  identified  themselves.  See  ? 
Well,  if  you  've  got  that  straight,  I  '11  go.  Friday  at 
twelve.  Goo-by  !  " 

He  had  risen,  shaken  hands,  and  was  about  to  leave, 
when  his  eye  caught,  through  a  half-opened  door,  a  narrow 
view  of  the  inner  room.  His  eye  hung  there  for  a  second, 
and  then  he  turned  on  the  young  man  with  ferocity. 

"  The  devil !  "  he  cried.  "  There  's  a  woman  in  that 
room.  We  Ve  been  overheard  !  " 

u  There  's  no  woman  there,"  Roulhac  protested.  "  Look 
for  yourself!  "  He  flung  open  the  door  and  entered.  Half 
way  in,  he  stopped  and  a  smile  grew  on  his  face.  uOh 
yes  !  "  he  said.  "  I  forgot.  But  she  has  n't  been  listening, 
I  give  you  my  word.  Allow  me  to  introduce  you  to  Miss 
Harmony,  Mr.  Rappp." 

The  lady  in  question  stood  upright  with  a  rigid  pose, 
auburn  of  hair  and  with  pink  round  cheeks,  looking 
abstractedly  at  the  opposite  wall.  She  was  neatly,  one 

[75] 


% 


LADT   MECHANTE 


might  say  stylishly  arrayed,  if  the  cut  of  her  garments  had 
not  been,  to  the  practiced  eye,  significant  of  the  styles  of  a 
year  or  more  ago.  Her  hands  hung  rather  stiffly  at  her 
sides,  and,  as  the  two  drew  nearer,  she  made  no  sign  of 
recognition  or  greeting.  This,  however,  was  not  so  re 
markable  as  it  would  have  been  had  she  not  been  made  of 
wax  and  wood,  with  glass  eyes  which  were  incapable 
of  movement.  Mr.  Braghampton's  female  friend  was,  in 
short,  a  draped  lay  figure,  such  as  dwell  commonly  within 
the  narrow  limits  of  a  plate  glass  show  window. 

"  My  word  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Rappp,  approaching  her 
with  a  certain  shyness.  "A  dummy,  by  Jimminy-Jove  ! 
And  do  you  know,  I  fancied  that  I  recognized  her  !  Shows 
what  a  bad  conscience  will  do  !  How  the  devil  do  you 
happen  to  have  this  piece  of  pink  perfection  in  your  sitting- 
room  ?  " 

"  It 's  a  long  story,"  Roulhac  drawled,  "  and  I  '11  not 
bore  you  with  it,  except  for  the  fact  that  my  father  was,  at 
one  time,  in  the  dry-goods  and  mantle  business.  When 
the  firm  dissolved,  I  appropriated  this  figure  and  I  've  kept 
it  here  ever  since.  The  fact  is,  it  's  by  way  of  being  a 
composite  of  several  of  my  friends." 

"  Queer  sort  of  dolls  you  must  run  with,"  said  Mr. 
Rappp. 

"  Oh,  not  the  head,  you  know  ;  that  might  be  any  girl's," 
Roulhac  explained,  "  but  the  clothes.  I  've  borrowed,  or 
pinched,  or  had  presented  to  ner  everything  she's  got  on. 
This  skirt  was  given  me  by  a  girl  I  flirted  with  at  Mon 
terey.  The  shirt-waist  belonged  to  a  sunset  blonde  up  at 
Castle  Crags  —  you  'd  know  the  name  if  I  told  you  ;  it's  in 
the  society  column  every  week  —  and  the  hat  has  been 
frequently  seen  at  San  Rafael."  He  turned  up  the  skirt. 

[76] 


MR.    BRAGHAMPTON  ENTERTAINS 


"  Fervid  petticoats,  eh  ?  They  belonged  to  —  never  mind  ! 
Oh,  she  's  complete,  even  to  Jaegers.  I  'm  not  disclosing 
their  authorship,  of  course,  but  —  well,  you  understand. 
Swell  girls,  all  of 'em — rudement  chic!  Oh,  Miss  Har 
mony  's  a  silk-lined  thoroughbred,  I  assure  you  !  She  's  a 
pretty  hot  piece  of  pie,  she  is,  I  give  you  my  word  if  any 
one  should  ring  you  up  and  inquire !  Green  stockings, 
too !  How  they  carry  me  back !  A  girl  in  London 
bought  'em  for  her  and  wore  'em  once  to  give  'em  atmos 
phere.  Gladys,  kiss  your  hand  to  the  fat  gentleman!  She 
speaks  French,  too,  when  she  talks  at  all,  par  la  fan- 
faronnade  !  Luckily,  she  's  dumb.  Bye-bye,  Glad  !  " 

u  Say,  you  're  a  queer  stick  !  "  said  Mr.  Rappp.  "  You're 
fertile,  by  Crickey  !  You  can  help  us  lots  with  suggestions, 
you  can.  We'll  have  to  have  you,  sure  !  Say,  you  're  all 
right,  all  right !  " 

And  with  this  remark  he  took  his  leave  and  climbed 
cautiously  down  the  Hill. 


[77] 


Chapter  Jfour 


A   LUNCH    AT    CAMPI'S 


So  I  meant.      What  is  she  ? 


A  bonnibel  ? 

(The  Alchemist.) 


PSTAIRS  at  Campi's  was  a  long,  low  room 
with  sanded  floor,  filled  by  three  rows  of 
I  T  !HI$  tables  running  from  the  French  windows 
overlooking  Clay  Street  back  to  the  parti 
tions  shutting  off  the  kitchen  in  the  rear. 
Between  the  dingy  lace  curtains  of  the  win 
dows,  on  a  wall  bracket,  stood  the  dusty  bust  of  Campi  pere, 
the  original  founder  of  the  establishment,  gazing  down, 
between  fierce  moustaches  trimmed  a  la  Vittor  Emmanu- 
ello,  upon  the  habitues  of  the  restaurant.  Below,  in  the 
main  room,  there  was  a  clatter  of  plates  and  spoons,  as 
clerks  and  book-keepers  gulped  through  their  half-hour 
lunch  ;  above  it  was  more  quiet.  Here  the  regular  cus 
tomers  gathered  in  little  cliques  and  took  their  time  over 
long  cigars,  and  the  waiters  served  with  less  briskness. 
Here,  too,  more  ladies  appeared:  pretty  typewriters,  the 
cashiers  of  small  business  houses,  the  proprietress  of  the 
bindery  next  door,  and  so  on. 

Here,  in  the  old  days,  Barowich  presided.  Barowich 
the  Slav,  whose  mother  was  a  countess  and  had  disinherited 
him.  Not  to  know  Barowich  by  name  was  a  badge  of  the 
alien ;  to  his  regular  customers  he  was  an  old  friend,  and 
he  would  linger  at  the  table  after  the  room  had  thinned,  and 

[78] 


V 


YlFY 


A    LUNCH  AT   CAMPFS 


would  show  you  the  miniature  of  his  lady  mother,  set  in 
dull  pearls,  and  talk  of  Italy  and  Botticelli. 

Roulhac  was  early  at  his  appointment,  and,  entering  the 
upper  hall  and  looking  for  his  position,  found  that,  at  the 
table  where  he  was  to  sit,  all  the  chairs  were  placed  back 
wards,  in  sign  that  the  place  was  reserved.  A  waiter  came 
up  and  regarded  him  intently.  u  Is  this  table  taken  ?  " 
said  Roulhac. 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me  your  name,  sir  ?  "  said 
Barowich. 

"  Braghampton,"  said  Roulhac,  in  some  surprise  at  the 
inquisition. 

"  All  right,"  said  the  waiter,  and  he  turned  the  chairs 
back  to  their  normal  position. 

Roulhac  sat  down  and  shook  the  napkin  out  of  the  glass 
in  front  of  him  lazily,  looking  curiously  about  the  room, 
with  which  he  was  not  familiar.  There  were  as  yet  few 
occupants.  The  corner  table,  by  the  window,  always  the 
most  popular,  was  taken  by  two  women.  One  of  them, 
sitting  with  her  back  to  him,  he  could  not  well  make  out ; 
the  other,  facing  him,  had  heavy  eyebrows  and  black  hair 
pulled  out  in  a  flourish  over  her  ears.  Her  costume  was 
loud  and  cheap;  it  was  evident  she  was  from  the  south  of 
Market  Street  slot ;  and  he  transferred  his  attention  to  the 
other  end  of  the  room,  where  a  portly  German  was  eating 
soup  with  audible  gusto.  Here,  again,  he  found  little  to 
interest  him.  It  was  evident  that  he  was  not  regarded 
and  must  wait  for  further  visitors. 

The  place  began  to  fill  up,  and  the  room  before  long 
bustled  with  activity.  At  half-after-twelve  the  business 
men  of  the  vicinity,  printers,  market  men,  and  paper  mer 
chants,  began  to  arrive.  As  they  entered,  Roulhac  gave 

[79] 


"Se 
o 


LADT  M EC H ANTE 


each  one  a  searching  glance,  but  he  had  little  clue  to  go  by 
and  he  soon  gave  up  the  investigation.  Here  one  or  an 
other  might  be  a  possible  member  of  the  club,  but  there 
was  small  satisfaction  in  the  surmise. 

And  yet,  as  he  proceeded  with  his  lunch,  the  feeling  that 
he  was  being  watched  grew  upon  him.  He  caught,  it  is 
true,  no  direct  glance,  but  all  about  him  he  knew  the  spies 
of  the  mysterious  organisation  to  be  placed.  They  might 
be  at  his  right  or  his  left,  facing  him,  or  behind.  There 
was  no  knowing,  but  the  feeling  made  him  awkward  and 
self-conscious.  He  succeeded  in  spilling  a  bottle  of  red 
wine  upon  the  tablecloth,  which  did  not  increase  his  peace 
of  mind.  His  food  remained  untasted,  but  he  made  a  bold 
pretense  of  appetite  and  nursed  his  lunch  that  it  might  last 
as  long  as  possible.  Behind  him,  in  the  corner  by  the  stair, 
was  a  table  set  for  eight,  and  here  a  gay  company  assembled, 
whose  laughter,  loud  talking,  and  congeniality  proclaimed 
them  frequenters  of  the  place.  He  caught  now  and  then 
an  easy,  obvious  jest,  and  he  wondered  if  he  were  to  become 
the  associate  of  such  a  crew  as  that.  His  mind  turned 
backward  at  the  thought. 

So  far  the  ordeal  bored  him,  and  he  had  conceived  a  huge 
disgust  at  the  undignified  situation  in  which  he  was  placed, 
when  a  lady  entered,  and,  after  casting  an  inquisitive  look 
about  the  room,  approached  his  table  and  sat  down  directly 
opposite  him.  It  was,  in  point  of  fact,  almost  the  only 
place  now  vacant,  and  its  selection  showed  no  signs  of  pre 
meditation.  Nevertheless,  the  possibility  set  Roulhac  on 
the  qui  vive.  It  gave  an  entirely  new  turn  to  the  affair, 
in  his  mind,  and  he  began  to  view  it  with  a  renascent 
interest. 

She  removed  her  veil  slowly,  revealing  a  coil  of  hair  of 


A^=c^- 


.a^vas-A^- 


A    LUNCH   AT   CAMPFS 


that  particular  shade  of  red  for  which  Titian  and  number 
less  imitators  have  given  us  an  acquired  taste.  The  color 
was,  in  short,  what  any  painter  would  term  "  wonderful," 
and  it  accompanied  that  dazzling  complexion  with  which 
it  is  usually  associated.  Her  mouth  was  small,  but  mis 
chievously  curved  ;  two  nimble,  entertaining  dimples  punc 
tuated  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyebrows  wrote  humor  upon  her 
face;  her  eyes,  when  she  let  them  open  to  their  full  size, 
shone  blue  as  deep-sea  water.  She  wore  a  costume  de 
scribed  in  the  fashion-books  as  "jaunty."  A  blue  waist, 
dotted  with  white,  trimmed  with  gold  braid  in  military 
style,  adorned  with  brass  buttons,  and  a  belt,  captured,  no 
doubt,  without  a  struggle  from  some  devoted  ensign  in  the 
navy.  From  this  depended  a  collection  of  bijouterie  strung 
on  a  gold  chain.  She  drew  off  her  gloves,  and,  with  the 
fraction  of  a  second's  peep  at  her  vis-a-vis,  she  contem 
plated  the  printed  menu.  Her  white  left  hand  drew  the 
alert  Braghampton  eye,  for  on  its  fourth  finger  was  a  Regard 
ring,  fastened  by  a  crossed  gold  chain  to  her  wrist  —  a  piece 
of  piquantly  amusing  idiocy  that  pleased  him  well.  Thus 
posed  as  if  for  a  photograph  by  Genthe,  or  a  cover  for 
"Jugend,  she  was  as  nearly  perfect  as  anything  at  which 
Roulhac  Braghampton  had  ever  loosed  a  giddy  glance. 

At  any  other  time  such  a  delirious  flirt  as  Roulhac  Brag 
hampton  would  have  attempted  his  wiles  upon  the  fair 
creature  at  his  table.  He  was  not  the  kind  to  make  goo- 
goo  eyes,  or  ogle  a  beauty  out  of  countenance ;  his  ways 
were  lubricated  with  tact  and  delicacy ;  but  now  the  pres 
ence  of  possible  surveillors  of  his  actions  kept  down  his 
temperature.  None  the  less  did  he  aim  many  a  covert 
stiletto  glance  in  the  direction  of  his  auburn-haired  partner, 
and  he  could  not  but  perceive  that  she  was  conscious  of  his 
6  [81] 


LADY   M EC H ANTE 


presence.  His  attention  was  limited  to  passing  her  the 
salt  and  oil,  and  a  casual,  seemingly  accidental,  collision 
with  her  foot  under  the  table.  The  cloth  being  short,  he 
did  this  with  dexterity,  nicely  calculating  the  possible  angle 
and  range  of  vision  for  possible  observers.  His  conceit  led 
him  to  suspect  more  danger  from  them  than  from  her,  and, 
above  the  table,  his  demeanor  was  sobriety  itself.  He 
contented  himself,  then,  with  admiring  her  air  and  style, 
which  had  distinction  out  of  accord  with  the  dun  and  dim 
apartment.  She  should  have  been  dining  at  the  Maison 
Riche,  he  thought,  and  that,  too,  with  him,  tete-a-tete 
upstairs. 

Engaged  in  these  alluring  fancies,  he  dabbled  [leisurely 
through  his  lunch.  Whitebait  and  spaghetti  had  been  dal 
lied  with,  and  he  was  just  about  to  plunge  his  knife  into  a 
small  bird  when  a  commotion  at  the  far  end  of  the  room 
drew  his  eyes  in  that  direction.  There  a  small,  robust  lump 
of  a  man  with  eyeglasses  and  a  brown  beard  was  making 
himself  conspicuous.  A  friend  at  his  side  was  evidently 
dissuading  him  from  some  exhibition,  but  the  man  (he  wore 
a  pink  shirt  with  a  red  necktie)  was  in  revolt.  He  strug 
gled  to  his  feet,  finally,  with  the  other  tugging  at  his  coat- 
tails,  and  cleared  his  throat. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  announced.  "  My  subject 
today  is  one  that  promises  to  revolutionize  Modern  Science. 
The  question  of  the  possibility  of  a  Fourth  Dimension,  in 
comprehensible  as  it  is  to  our  conception  of  Space,  is  one 
that  was  foreshadowed  by  Kant,  and  has  since  been  pro 
foundly  investigated  by  Lobatchewski  and  other  German 
mathematicians.  Today  Non-Euclidean  geometry  is  rec 
ognized  as  a  possible  hypothesis  to  account  for  many  un 
answered  problems  in  Physics  and  Natural  Science.  Indeed, 

F  82  1 


A   LUNCH  AT   CAMP  PS 


it  has  been  used  by  Spiritists  to  explain  several  remarkable 
manifestations,  notably  at  Berne  — 

"  Sit  down,  for  God's  sake,  sit  down  !  "  cried  the  man 
at  his  table,  a  thin  creature  with  a  pointed  beard,  who 
looked  like  Shakespeare  in  a  concave  mirror.  But  the  au 
dience,  amused  by  this  unforeseen  entertainment,  yelled 
encouragement  and  rapped  their  wineglasses  with  their 
knives. 

"At  Berne,  I  repeat,  where  in  an  empty  room  a  light 
appeared  underneath  a  table  and  cast  an  undlstorted  shadow 
in  its  true  size  and  shape  upon  the  wall,  thus  proving  the 
light  had  come  from  an  infinite  distance.  The  mathemati 
cal  elucidation  of  the  theory  of  Higher  Space,  involving  as 
it  does  Quaternions  and  Least  Squares,  is  not  easily 
followed  by  the  lay  mind,  but,"  and  here  he  struggled  pain 
fully  with  his  oppressor,  "  upon  the  speculative  side,  the 
subject  is  possible  of  simple  illustration." 

He  paused  for  breath,  and  his  friend  attacked  him  more 
vigorously.  Roulhac  noticed  that  all  over  the  room  men 
had  risen,  some  ten  or  twelve  in  all,  and  were  evidently 
more  than  ordinarily  interested  in  the  episode.  They  got 
together  in  twos  and  threes,  and  a  few  made  their  way 
down  between  the  tables  as  if  to  second  the  attempts  of  the 
man  who  was  trying  to  interrupt  the  lecture.  Barowich 
himself  hastened  to  the  spot,  and  spoke  to  one  of  the  groups 
in  passing.  But  the  professor,  for  so  he  appeared,  would 
not  down,  and  after  a  terrific  struggle  he  broke  loose 
again. 

"  I  shall  not  be  interrupted  !  "  he  cried.  u  I  will  go  on  ! 
We  must  proceed  by  analogy.  Suppose,  if  you  will,  a 
Space  limited  to  one  dimension  —  in  short,  a  world  where 
consciousness  is  limited  to  a  line  .  .  ." 

[83] 


dS^v^als  vcR> 
o    Y    o     Y    o 


^S^^y^^A^ 

.\A^mL-V3»O7?TlXQ^frn\JVVJ?Tt^^ 

LADY   MECHANTE 


While  Roulhac  had  been  intent  upon  the  talker,  the 
lady  opposite  him  had  risen  and  glided  swiftly  down  the 
room  till  she  stood  directly  in  front  of  the  professor.  She 
caught  his  eye. 

"  The  inhabitants  of  this  linear  world,"  he  proceeded, 
disconcerted,  "can  conceive  of  but  one  direction,  back 
and  forth  .  .  .  they  cannot  pass  each  other  .  .  .  but  .  .  . 
suppose,  now,  the  line  to  be  intersected  by  a  square.  .  .  . 
It  would  appear  only  as  two  receding  points  .  .  .  but,  to 
the  square.  .  .  ."  His  voice  died  out  in  a  mumble,  as  the 
lady  in  the  blue  blouse  whispered  in  his  ear.  He  collapsed 
and  sat  down,  took  up  his  fork  and  attacked  his  lunch 
again. 

The  sprightly  beauty  returned  to  her  place  and  resumed 
her  occupation  as  if  nothing  unusual  had  happened.  The 
little  knots  of  excited  men  disintegrated  and  took  their  for 
mer  places.  The  rest  of  the  company,  after  much  inquisi 
tive  staring  at  the  professor  and  the  lady,  recommenced 
their  repast,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  place  had  taken  on 
its  customary  aspect. 

It  was  now  half-after-one  o'clock,  and  the  customers  be 
gan  to  leave.  One  by  one  they  pushed  their  chairs  back, 
lit  cigarettes,  and  arose.  There  were  some,  however,  who 
lingered,  and  to  these,  one  after  another,  Roulhac  observed 
Barowich  go.  He  handed  each  a  small  slip  of  paper,  and, 
careful  as  they  were  to  do  so  stealthily,  Roulhac  noticed 
several  of  them  write  upon  the  checks  and  return  them  to 
the  head  waiter.  It  seemed  as  if  they  were  tipping  him  at 
the  time ;  he  hardly  commented  upon  the  action. 

At  quarter-to-two  the  lady  opposite  him  called  for  her 
bill,  gave  Barowich  the  money  in  payment,  placed  a  dollar 
upon  the  table,  and  left.  She  did  not  do  so,  however,  with- 

[84] 


^ 


A   LUNCH  AT  CAMP  PS 


out  another  gaze  at  Mr.  Braghampton,  and  she  even  in 
dulged  him  with  a  swift,  barbed  smile  as  she  turned. 
Roulhac  started,  at  this,  to  follow  her ;  but,  remembering 
his  promise  to  stay  till  two  o'clock,  he  remained  in  his 
chair,  and,  palpitant,  watched  her  descend  the  stair. 

It  had  become  patent  by  this  time,  to  the  observation  of 
the  young  man,  that  Barowich  occupied  in  that  place  a 
far  more  important  figure  than  that  of  mere  head  waiter. 
So  many  of  the  patrons  appeared  to  know  him  and  col 
logued  him  with  affability,  and  his  bearing  was  so  distin 
guished  as  he  presided  over  the  welfare  of  the  guests,  that 
the  desire  was  born  in  Roulhac's  breast  for  conversation. 
As  Barowich  approached  him,  therefore,  Roulhac  made  a 
sign. 

"Queer  sort  of  business,  that  speech,"  he  remarked, 
pleasantly. 

"Very  strange,"  said  the  waiter.  "But  we  see  strange 
sights  here  at  times.  Your  waiter,  like  your  doctor,  probes 
secrets  every  day." 

"Who  was  the  speaker?"  was  the  next  interrogation. 

Barowich  leaned  against  an  iron  pillar  unprofessionally. 
"  He  's  Professor  Dolittle,  of  the  University,"  he  answered. 
"He's  an  authority  on  Hyperspace,  you  know." 

"  What  the  devil  is  Hyperspace  ? "  asked  Roulhac 

"  Speculation,  rank  speculation ;  to  my  mind  there 's 
nothing  in  it.  Of  course,  it 's  a  useful  working  theory  in 
chemistry,  you  know;  gives  a  modus  operandi  for  the  group 
ing  of  atoms  in  molecules  of  certain  volatile  hydrocarbons, 
that  can't  possibly  be  done  with  three-dimensional  forms. 
But  it's  the  professor's  fad.  You  ought  to  see  his  models. 
Projections  of  Tessaracts  and  Octohedroids  upon  Three- 
Space,  you  know." 


o 


^V\3-gVsJ^^V?^-^!^-S- 


LADY   MECHANTE 


"  Indeed,"  said  Roulhac,  marveling  at  the  waiter's  cul 
ture.  u  Have  you  seen  them  ?  " 

"  Oh  }7es,"  said  Barowich.  "  In  fact,  I  have  pointed  out 
to  the  professor  gross  inaccuracies  in  his  calculations  of  the 
perimetry  of  certain  warped  surfaces,  and  I'm  inclined  to 
dispute  his  authority  on  such  subjects.  You  are  aware,  of 
course,  that  mathematics  is  not,  strictly,  an  exact  science." 

The  subject  began  to  bore  his  victim,  and  he  turned  to 
more  congenial  topics.  "  Who  was  the  young  lady  sitting 
opposite  me  ?"  he  asked.  "  Do  you  know  her  ?" 

"That  was  the  Countess  Rouge,"  said  Barowich. 

"  Indeed,"  Roulhac  remarked.  "  I  would  have  laid  four 
bits  she  was  an  American  girl." 

"  Wrong  ;  she  's  English,  and  she  's  a  countess  to  boot," 
Barowich  explained.  "  Beautiful  woman,  no  ?  Every 
inch  an  aristocrat,  too,  I  know,  for  my  mother  was  of 
the  Polish  nobility." 

"  She  seemed  to  have  a  remarkable  influence  with  the 
professor,"  suggested  Roulhac  ;  but  Barowich's  veil  dropped, 
and  he  began  to  resume  his  capacity  as  waiter.  The  young 
man  began  again. 

"  I  noticed  when  I  entered  that  this  table  had  been  re 
served  in  the  customary  manner.  May  I  ask  by  whose 
direction  ?  " 

Barowich  returned  to  his  pose,'and,  to  Roulhac's  surprise, 
seated  himself  at  the  table. 

"That  brings  me  to  an  important  matter,"  he  said.  "I 
am  requested  to  inform  you  of  your  election." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  "  ejaculated  the  other.  "  I  had  no 
idea  a  ballot  would  be  taken  so  soon." 

The  waiter  took  from  his  pocket  a  small  packet  of  papers, 
seemingly  torn  from  the  ordinary  check-pad  of  the  estab- 

[  86  1 


T31 


A   LUNCH   AT   CAMPI'S 


lishment.  As  he  spread  them  upon  the  table,  each  was  seen 
to  bear  the  printed  words  "  Campi's  Restaurant,  531  Clay 
Street,  San  Francisco.'*  Upon  each,  also,  but  in  different 
handwritings,  was  written  in  pencil  the  word  u  YES." 

"  There  is  the  official  ballot,"  the  waiter  explained. 
"  Unanimous,  you  see." 

"  But  what  have  you  to  do  with  this  ?  "  Roulhac  inquired. 
"  Is  it  possible  that  you  belong  to  the  club  ?  "  Then,  as 
he  considered  that  his  tone  of  surprise  might  be  miscon 
strued  as  scornful,  he  added  :  "I'm  delighted  to  meet  a 
fellow-member." 

"  I  have  that  honor,"  said  Barowich,  "  and  I  combine 
with  it  the  office  of  chef  de  cuisine.  I  assure  you  the  club 
sets  a  very  good  table." 

"  Then,  in  heaven's  name,  make  me  acquainted  with  the 
object  of  this  mysterious  organization,"  demanded  the  other. 
u  I  have  been  in  suspense  long  enough.  I  want  to  know 
whether  I  join  with  blacklegs,  vaudeville  artists,  or  madmen. 
I  'm  as  puzzled  as  a  cat  in  a  coffin." 

"The  time  has  come,"  said  Barowich.  "Here's  the 
scheme  in  a  word.  The  Hypnotic  Club  — 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course  !"  interrupted  Roulhac,  slapping 
the  table  violently,  "  I  might  have  guessed  that.  What  a 
blockhead  !  But  how,  why,  and  when  ?  " 

"  As  I  was  saying,"  resumed  the  waiter,  smiling,  "  we 
are  associated  together  to  enable  us  to  entertain  ourselves 
in  a  way  that  is  not  often  possible.  You  know,  well 
enough,  the  vagaries  of  the  mesmerist,  and  how  a  sugges 
tion  may  be  given  that  will  set  the  subject  off  on  a  dream 
life  as  real  and  ten  thousand  times  more  agreeable,  perhaps, 
than  his  waking  existence.  This  is  our  practice;  to  meet, 
and  be  put  into  a  state  of  hypnosis,  in  which  condition  we 


9  P 


as. 


MECHANTE 


can  pursue  any  form  of  entertainment  we  desire.  Each 
man  has  a  separate  room  and  is  well  attended.  There,  as 
often  as  he  pleases  of  an  evening,  he  can  live  the  dream-life 
undisturbed." 

"What  an  idea  !"  said  the  initiate.  "  But  I  don't  care, 
myself,  to  put  myself  in  the  power  of  any  mesmerist,  thank 
you.  I  should  have  investigated  this,  before  accepting  the 
election.  It  sounds  dangerous." 

"  Nothing  could  be  more  harmless.  You  see,  the  mem 
bers  take  turns  in  taking  the  part  of  hypnotist.  Each 
has  an  equal  part  in  controlling  the  others.  You  yourself, 
in  your  turn,  put  the  members  that  are  present  on  your 
night  into  trances  and  give  them  the  required  suggestions." 

"  But  I  know  nothing  of  mesmerism." 

"  You  will  be  instructed.  It  is  easy  enough  when  the 
subjects  are  willing  to  be  hypnotized.  Now,  you  are  re 
quested  to  appear  for  your  instruction  tomorrow  night.  I 
hope  you  have  no  engagement  for  then  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Roulhac.     «  I  '11  be  there." 

"  Come  at  eight,  sharp,  then,  and,  as  it  happens  to  be 
my  night,  I  '11  explain  more  at  detail  what  you  are  to  read 
and  do,  and  you  will  have  the  opportunity  of  watching  me 
attend  to  the  members.  Here  is  a  key  to  No.  7  Key 
Court.  Go  right  in.  You  may  see  Rappp  and  Colonel 
McArthur,  and  I  think  you  '11  find  them  more  hospitable 
than  they  were  the  other  evening. 

"  Your  bill  ?  "  he  answered,  in  reply  to  Roulhac's  query. 
"Never  mind  that,  you  are  the  guest  of  the  club  today. 
Good-bye.  I  shall  expect  you  tomorrow  at  eight." 


88  ] 


Chapter  Jftoe 

THE    HYPNOTIC    CLUB 


Is  not  this  a  fantastic  house  we  are  in, 
And  all  a  dream  we  do  ? 

(Rule  a.  Wife  and  Have  a  Wife.) 

fT  eight  o'clock  precisely,  the  next  evening, 
Roulhac  Braghampton  turned  into  Key 
Court.  The  place  was  dark  and  quiet 
save  that,  from  the  rabbitry  where  P.  Gos- 
linson  bred  his  Belgian  hares,  came  a  sound 
of  muffled  pounding.  The  key  fitted,  the 
door  opened,  and  Roulhac  found  himself  at  last  within  the 
secret  precincts  of  the  Hypnotic  Club.  A  door  at  his  left 
was  marked  "OFFICE,"  and  here  he  penetrated  cava 
lierly.  The  room  was  narrow  and  high  of  ceiling,  the 
walls  hung  in  crimson  paper.  At  a  desk  sat  Barowich,  in 
full  evening  dress,  writing  in  a  blank  book.  There  was  a 
long  settee,  upholstered  in  leather,  upon  which  lounged 
three  or  four  men.  Amongst  these  he  recognized  Colonel 
Arthur  McArthur,  now  quite  sane.  Beside  him  was  Rappp, 
smoking  a  tiny  cigar  and  reading  an  enormous  book. 

All  three  rose  to  welcome  him,  and  he  was  formally 
presented  to  the  other  members.  Colonel  McArthur 
began  the  conversation. 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  apologize  for  the  ass  I  made  of 
myself,"  he  began.  "The  fact  is,  my  door  was  left  un 
locked  and  I  escaped.  I  was  fighting  the  battle  of  Antie- 

[89] 


¥*^^r&*f]J~>fr&?fl^JJ'- 

Y&Y-^Y^- 


JL^^^^ 


MECHANTE 


tarn,  you  understand,  and  thought  I  was  making  a  forced 
march.  I  had  hard  enough  work  to  escape  the  enemy, 
here,  I  assure  you,"  and  he  pointed  to  Rappp. 

"  You  saved  us  from  a  very  disagreeable  scene,"  said 
Mr.  Rappp,  looking  up  from  his  book,  a  profound  work  on 
microscopy. 

u  Let  me  show  you  the  place  before  the  rest  of  the  mem 
bers  arrive,"  interrupted  Barowich,  slamming  his  accounts 
upon  the  desk.  "  This  is,  as  you  see,  the  general  office. 
Here  is  a  list  of  members,  showing  the  rotation  of  the  office 
of  controller."  He  ran  his  finger  down  the  line.  "  My 
night,  you  see  —  your  turn  will  come  in  a  week,  unless 
some  of  the  others  fail.  Here's  our  library;  Moll,  Binet 
and  Fere,  Charcot,  Prince,  all  the  best  authorities,  including 
the  suppressed  report  of  the  French  Academy  on  Mesmer's 
experiments.  We  're  of  the  newer  German  school  and 
follow  pure  suggestion.  Braid  was  all  right,  but  the  mir 
rors  and  things  he  used  to  paralyze  the  sight  or  hearing 
and  so  on  are  but  a  pis  alter.  You  '11  discover  the  differ 
ence  between  Mesmerism  and  Hypnotism  soon.  Animal 
Magnetism,  perhaps,  comes  nearer  the  mark,  but  the  name 
signifies  little.  The  passes  and  the  staring  eyeballs  help 
to  fascinate  the  subject,  but  it 's  purely  mental.  It  depends 
far  more  upon  the  subject  than  the  hypnotist.  Now  we're 
all  good  subjects,  because  we  help  the  controller  and  are 
willing  to  give  ourselves  up  to  his  influence.  There's  a 
grill-room  in  the  rear  where  you  can  get  a  very  good 
sprig,  teal,  or  mallard  at  this  time  of  the  year,  and  I  '11  guar 
antee  that  it  will  be  well  cooked,  for  I  have  the  chef  per 
manently  under  my  influence.  What  I  know  about  sauces 
and  condiments  and  basting,  he  knows.  It  's  the  same  as 
if  I  broiled  it  myself.  Upstairs  there  are  ten  rooms  with 


THE    HYPNOTIC    CLUB 


beds,  if  you  wish  to  stay  all  night.  Each  one  is  numbered, 
every  member  has  his  own  apartment.  You  are  in  Number 
8.  Like  to  see  it  ?  " 

But,  as  more  of  the  members  now  came  in,  Roulhac 
contented  himself  with  meeting  them  and  shaking  hands. 
A  tray  of  drinks  was  brought  in  ;  mild  cocktails,  Baro- 
wich  explained,  so  as  not  to  interfere  with  the  trance  to  be 
invoked,  and  then  each  member  went  to  his  room.  Baro- 
wich  and  Roulhac  were  left  alone  in  the  office. 

"It  goes  without  saying,"  said  the  waiter,  "that  all  you 
see  and  hear  is  in  strict  confidence.  You  're  not  to  men 
tion  one  member's  affairs,  even  to  another.  You  're  to 
suggest  any  subject  a  member  requests  provided  it 's  not 
immoral  or  constituting  a  statutory  offense.  We  've  got 
to  be  careful  of  the  good  name  of  the  club.  Each  room  is 
connected  with  the  office  by  an  electric  bell  and  this  an 
nunciator.  Here  is  a  list  of  the  times  the  members  are  to 
be  wakened,  but  it 's  usual  practice  to  suggest  it  to  the  sub 
ject  when  he 's  put  into  his  trance.  The  bells  are  more 
for  emergencies.  Now  we  '11  come  up.  Usually  we  begin 
with  the  first  man  who  comes  in,  and  the  others  wait  their 
turn." 

He  led  the  way  upstairs  into  the  upper  hall  and  opened 
the  door  of  Number  i.  A  gentleman  in  a  dressing-gown 
was  lying  upon  the  lounge.  His  hair  and  moustaches 
were  elaborately  curled  and  bore  suspicion  of  dye.  Roul 
hac  had  marked  the  foppery  of  his  manner  in  the  office, 
where  he  swaggered  as  only  an  old  buck  can.  His  fingers 
were  covered  with  rings,  and,  though  he  appeared  in  a  po 
lite  neglige  every  article  of  his  apparel  was  elegant,  in  the 
extreme  of  style.  One  would  imagine  him  a  lady-killer 
who  could  count  his  affairs  by  thousands.  His  feet  were 


LADT  MECHANTE 


enclosed  in  patent-leather  shoes  several  sizes  too  small. 
To  crown  the  ridiculous  vanity  of  this  coxcomb,  he  held  in 
his  arms  a  wax  doll,  the  largest  Roulhac  had  ever  seen,  be 
decked  in  a  garment  of  an  ultra-modish  make.  Underneath 
her  blonde  wig  a  pair  of  staring  eyes  looked  out  and  ques 
tioned  the  ceiling.  As  the  two  entered,  the  gentleman, 
who  had  been  introduced  as  Mr.  Ruby,  arose  and  placed 
his  charge  upon  the  chair  beside  him,  then  seated  himself 
and  composed  his  features  for  the  seance. 

"  The  same  old  game,"  he  requested,  with  a  smirk. 

Barowich  approached  and  made  a  few  passes.  The 
man's  eyes,  at  first  fixed  upon  the  controller,  grew  glassy ; 
then  the  lids  fell,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  breathed  heavily, 
fast  asleep.  Barowich  turned  from  the  unconscious  sub 
ject  and  explained  : 

"  This  man,  whom  you  might  take  for  a  gallant  of  the 
first  water,  is  of  so  singularly  modest  a  nature  that  any  real 
pleasure  of  communication  with  the  other  sex  is  impossible, 
unbearable,  and  painful  to  an  excruciating  degree.  At  heart 
he  is  a  very  Lothario ;  Don  Juan  and  Casanova  himself 
could  not  equal  his  imaginary  amours.  But  he  is  cursed,  as 
I  say,  with  a  most  immoderate  bashfulness  —  the  very  sight 
of  a  woman  turns  his  knees  to  water  ;  he  is  so  shy,  Mr. 
Braghampton,  I  have  seen  him  blush  to  meet  a  little  girl 
four  years  old  !  The  case  is  most  extraordinary,  especially 
as  the  man  has  written  some  of  the  keenest  things  of 
women  ever  printed.  Why,  only  last  month  there  appeared 
in  Mimsey's  Magazine  a  story,  over  a  feminine  pseudonym, 
that  has  made  talk  in  this  town,  I  assure  you.  He  's  the 
devil-and-all,  when  he's  alone,  and  will  give  advice  to 
the  youngsters  that  comes  in  handy ;  oh,  he  knows  all  the 
ropes,  theoretically,  but  he  dare  n't  pull  'em." 

(9*1 


AqpAqpA^^m^^Aa^ 


THE    HTPNOriC    CLUB 


"  But  hypnotism  should  be  the  very  cure  for  all  this," 
suggested  Roulhac.  "  I  've  heard  of  its  efficacy  in  dentistry 
and  the  alcoholic  habit,  and  so  on.  Why  don't  you  suggest 
that  he'll  get  on  all  right  with  the  girls  ?  " 

"  He  won't  hear  of  it,"  said  Barowich.  "  I  tell  you 
he  's  a  monomaniac  on  that  subject.  He  'd  rather  go  into 
a  den  of  Colorado  catamounts  than  to  an  afternoon  tea." 

u  Well,  so  would  I,  for  that  matter,"  Roulhac  grinned, 
"  but  proceed." 

The  controller  turned  to  his  subject  and  said,  pointing 
to  the  doll :  "  Mr.  Ruby,  this  is  Miss  Virginia  Yerrington, 
of  Pacific  Avenue,  you  know.  You  are  well  acquainted 
with  her  brother,  you  remember,  and  he  has  told  you  that 
the  young  lady  is  very  much  smitten  with  your  charms. 
I  Ve  no  doubt  that  she  's  expecting  a  proposal.  She  's  a 
bit  timid,  but  you  '11  be  able  to  bring  her  out.  The  fact  is, 
she's  jealous,  for  she's  heard  of  that  affair  of  yours  with 
Belle  Gerrish.  She  's  a  nice  girl,  but  she  needs  educating, 
and  you're  the  man  to  do  it.  She's  pretty  used  to  com 
pliments;  you  know  the  kind.  She's  been  spoiled,  but  a 
man  who  's  sure  of  himself  can  tear  the  heart  out  of  her 
and  eat  her  alive.  She  's  the  prettiest  peach  in  San  Fran 
cisco,  and  all  the  women  in  town  are  afraid  of  her,  for 
she's  got  brains,  to  boot.  Money,  too,  but  you  won't  mind 
that.  It 's  up  to  you,  old  man  ;  so  long  !  ' 

The  dandy  was  now  sitting  upright  and  twirling  his 
moustache.  His  eye  lighted  and  he  cast  it  obliquely  at  his 
victim,  as  if  estimating  her  defense.  Then  he  leaned  back 
upon  the  couch,  crossed  his  legs,  and  said  : 

"They  say  you're  pretty  and  they  say  you're  bright. 
You  've  proven  one,  of  course ;  now  you  must  make  good 
on  the  other."  Some  inaudible  sally  from  the  coun- 

[93] 


O 


o 


•o 


^ 

V-J  r^UA^V^JTTl^VVjTrLXQ^rr^YAQTO  r-i  UV^yCrTn: 


M  EC  H ANTE 


terfeit  Miss  Yerrington  convulsed  him,  and  he  leaned  to 
wards  her  with  empressement.  "Well,  I  '11  try  to  be  a  match 
for  you,  and  touch  off  your  skyrockets,  if  you  have  'em 
to  burn !  I  would  n't  have  thought  you  used  powder, 
though  !  "  Here  his  mouth  writhed  in  what  was  meant 
to  be  a  smile  of  devilish  sarcasm. 

"  That 's  enough  drivel  for  me,"  said  Roulhac,  edging 
towards  the  door.  u  I  think  we  're  de  trap.  These  things 
never  sound  so  funny  when  you  hear  them  as  when  you 
say  them." 

"  Why,  he  imagines  that  he  's  having  the  spiciest  sort  of 
a  conversation,"  said  the  controller.  "You  've  no  idea  how 
he'll  brag  of  this.  We  all  magnify  our  happiness,  I  sup 
pose,"  he  added,  as  he  closed  the  door.  Mr.  Ruby  had 
edged  a  shade  nearer  his  quarry  as  they  made  their  exit. 

Within  the  next  room  they  discovered  Professor  Do- 
little,  he  who  had  stood  his  ground  so  well  at  Campi's.  He 
was  busy  with  pencil  and  paper,  and  folding  little  models 
of  pasteboard.  He  looked  up  at  the  two  with  a  near-sighted 
inclination. 

"  I  'm  all  ready,"  he  said.  Then,  to  Braghampton,  he 
added  :  u  I  hear  you  were  at  Campi's  when  I  made  a  show 
of  myself.  I  can't  imagine  how  I  came  to  be  possessed 
that  way.  Most  extraordinary  episode.  The  fact  is,  I  'm 
investigating  the  Fourth  Dimension  along  the  lines  of  Pro 
fessor  Hinton's  theories.  He  's  the  only  one  of  us,  you 
know,  who  holds  that  it  is  possible  to  build  up,  by  infinitely 
patient  practice,  an  actual  conception  of  Higher  Space  ob 
jects.  On  the  face  of  it  it 's  a  contradiction  of  terms,  but 
he  thinks  we  have  rudimentary  possibilities  of  comprehend 
ing  Four-Space  at  least.  I  'm  following  his  exercises  in 
analogy  with  these  cubes." 

[94] 


THE   HTPNOTIC    CLUB 


"Yes,  yes,  quite  so,"  remarked  Roulhac,  nervously. 
lc  I  'm  very  anxious  to  see  what  you  say  under  the  influence 
of  hypnotism." 

"  You  won't  understand  a  word,  when  I  get  going," 
remarked  the  professor,  discouragingly,  as  if  his  previous 
discourse  had  been  the  veriest  ABC.  "  This  Tessaract 
is  all  named,  you  know.  Here  are  the  cubes  ;  first  face, 
4  Mars,  Merces,  Tyro:  Spicula,  Mora,  Oliva  :  Lars,  Tibi- 
cen,  Vestis,'  and  so  forth.  Rather  difficult,  eh?  That's 
elementary.  I  have  to  memorize  one  hundred  and  forty- 
four  names  in  the  first  cube  alone.  But  we  won't  waste 
time  now  explaining." 

At  an  agonized  gesture  of  appeal  from  Roulhac,  the 
Controller  put  the  professor  into  a  trance,  and  the  subject 
began  a  series  of  rapid  calculations  upon  the  paper,  cover 
ing  sheet  after  sheet  with  figures.  Looking  over  his  shoul 
der,  Roulhac  saw  that  he  had  begun  with  this  lucid  theorem  : 

"  Suppose  Arctos,  Cuspis,  and  Dos  are  each  cut  half-way. 
This  figure  is  an  Octo-Tessaract  whose  sides  are  the  diag 
onal  of  a  half-unit  squared. 

The  figure  Z  X  Y  is  also  an  equilateral  triangle 

1.  1.  1 
and  the  figure  Z  X  Y  is  an  equilateral  hexagon." 


He  took  Barowich's  hand  and  hurried  him  from  the 
room. 

"  Give  me  a  little  more  human  nature  !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  That  man  gets  on  my  nerves.  Show  me  a  man  with 
blood  in  his  veins,  not  ink,  even  if  he  's  an  ass  like  Ruby  !  " 

Barowich  smiled.  "You  must  use  philosophy,"  he  said. 
"  This  Non-Euclidean  fanatic  may  yet  become  famous. 

[95] 


LADY  M  EC  H  ANTE 


He  stands  to  discover  a  new  era  of  thought.  But  we 
must  hurry ;  I  have  taken  too  much  time,  the  members  will 
grow  impatient." 

The  next  visit  brought  them  to  a  broken-down  musician. 
He  was  a  man  who  had  never  left  the  State  in  which  he 
was  born,  but  he  considered  himself  competent  to  criticise 
any  performer  living,  whether  he  had  heard  him  or  not. 
At  present  he  was  almost  stone  deaf;  tone-deaf  and  color 
blind,  too,  many  said,  and  he  held  an  important  position  as 
musical  and  art  critic  on  the  great  daily  of  the  town.  He 
was  a  sorry,  carping  old  fool,  and  his  prattle  of  tone  and 
shading,  arpeggios,  and  scales  like  strands  of  pearls,  chiaro 
scuro  and  such  bosh,  was  no  more  diverting  to  Roulhac 
than  the  madness  of  the  mathematician.  He  had  a  toy 
musical  box  upon  the  table  and  was  winding  it  up  as  they 
entered.  A  few  passes,  and  the  critic  was  in  a  dream 
where  the  picking  of  the  little  comb  upon  the  bristled  cyl 
inder  passed  for  the  strains  of  divine  harmony.  With  con-, 
stant  winding,  Barowich  explained,  the  musical  box  could 
be  made  to  produce  a  half-dozen  operas  in  an  evening,  and 
this  with  an  execution  and  finish  that  even  the  critic  could 
not  deprecate.  They  left  the  man,  his  eyes  closed,  his 
hands  clasped,  and  a  meaningful  smile  upon  his  foolish  face, 
and  turned  into  the  next  room. 

The  arts  and  sciences  were  well  represented  in  the  club, 
and  it  seemed  to  Roulhac  that  only  professional  men  had 
made  use  of  the  opportunity  for  such  delights  as  the  hyp 
notists  provided.  He  began  to  itch  for  some  stronger  bond 
of  fellowship,  some  madcap  like  himself  who  might  suggest 
more  unconventional  emotions.  Here  again  was  a  scientist ; 
it  was,  in  fact,  his  old  friend  Rappp,  now  about  to  enjoy 
his  hobby  of  microscopy.  He  was  provided,  for  his  sug- 

[96] 


A-9P 


HTPNOTIC    CLUB 


gestions,  with  a  small  toy  instrument,  such  as  is  used  by 
children  with  which  to  examine  the  scales  of  a  moth's  wine 

o 

or  the  eyes  of  a  house  fly.  It  depressed  the  novitiate  to 
see  such  opportunities  wasted.  He  had  no  appetite  for 
the  dry  topics  of  natural  science;  living,  breathing  human 
nature  was  his  hobby,  and  he  almost  longed  to  put  back 
to  where  Mr.  Ruby  sat  in  entranced  reverie.  Rappp's 
microscope  was  promised  by  the  controller  to  magnify  one 
million  diameters,  and  a  hidden  world,  a  microcosm  un 
dreamed  of,  save  by  the  discoverer  of  Fitzjames  O'Brien's 
"  Diamond  Lens,"  was  Rappp's  to  explore.  Diatoms  were 
there  of  the  size  of  ostrich  eggs  —  animalculae  so  minute 
that  billions  find  roomy  existence  in  a  drop  of  water  —  the 
eyes  of  the  enthusiast  grew  eager  and  powerful  as  wild  pan 
thers —  he  was,  as  he  said,  with  a  fine  glow  of  pride,  at 
the  point  of  discovering  the  Ultimate  Atom  itself! 

And  Roulhac  cared  not  a  chew  of  pepsin  gum  for  these 
delights.  By  this  time  he  was  sunk  in  an  infinite  disgust. 
It  was,  to  him,  but  an  extension  of  the  same  old  game,  as 
Ruby  had  said.  If  hypnotism  could  accomplish  such  mar 
vels,  why,  to  a  man  of  imagination,  could  it  not  do  more  ? 
He,  in  his  time,  would  put  it  to  the  test  and  wring  from  its 
mysterious  clutch  some  momentous  stimulus. 

Full  of  such  hopes,  he  turned  back  to  the  office  with  the 
controller  and  seated  himself  on  the  divan.  "  Tell  me," 
he  demanded,  "  is  there  no  man  here  with  a  soul  above 
these  petty  games  of  art  and  science  ?  Is  Ruby  the  only 
man  with  human  entrails  in  this  organization  ?  I  scarcely 
know  which  is  the  greater  fool  :  Dolittle,  the  dupe  of  an 
outlandish  fairytale;  bah!  I  could  turn  mathematics  topsy 
turvy  myself  and  get  more  out  of  it  —  I  did  it  myself  at 
school,  and  defied  my  teacher  to  prove  that  two  and  two 

7  [97] 


LADT  MECHANTE 


were  not  five.  Scientific  Method  ?  Speculation  ?  My  col 
lar  button  has  more  speculation  ! —  Or  the  old  musician  who 
would  prefer  a  scientifically  perfect  rendering  to  all  the 
vibrant  emotions,  faults,  and  failings  of  a  wonderful  human 
voice  !  He  'd  expurgate  sharps  and  flats  from  the  diapa 
son  !  Is  there  no  one,  then,  who  has  feeling,  and  great, 
red,  fierce,  brutal,  passionate,  primal  emotions  ?  " 

Barowich  drew  himself  up  against  the  wall,  tall,  slender, 
dignified  as  the  Emperor  Wilhelm,  with  a  light  tawny 
moustache,  too,  bristling  under  his  nose. 

"Yes  !  "  he  cried.  "  I  am  one.  The  joie  de  vivre  is  in 
me  !  I  Eat  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Roulhac. 

"  I  eat,  yes  ;  eat,  eat,  Eat  !  Every  night  when  they  put 
me  into  my  trance  I  Eat  things.  Take  your  soul  and 
heart  and  mind  and  fill  them  with  your  little,  petty,  starvel 
ing  emotions,  if  you  will.  Bless  God,  I  have  a  Stomach  ! 
Do  you  know  what  is  the  life  of  a  waiter  ?  Every  day  to 
see  people  eating,  eating,  eating.  Ye  gods  in  heaven,  and 
what  swill,  too  !  I  know,  for  I  live  in  a  restaurant.  I  could 
tell  secrets,  tell  of  ragouts  and  stews  and  made-dishes  !  And 
the  swine  fill  their  faces  with  the  garbage  and  tip  me  for  the 
privilege.  God,  I  earn  my  salary  !  I  see  them  eating,  eating, 
eating,  when  I  go  in  the  park,  when  I  go  to  the  theatre,  when 
I  smoke  a  cigar  at  home,  I  am  haunted  by  the  thought  of 
them  !  Do  you  think  I  can  eat,  then,  in  that  place,  or 
anywhere  but  here  ?  Have  you  ever  sat  at  table  while  a 
newcomer  began  his  dinner,  after  you  were  sated  ?  Well, 
multiply  that  by  a  hundred,  by  two  hundred,  by  a  thousand! 
Raise  it  to  the  billionth  power  !  It  makes  me  sick,  and  it 
makes  my  sainted  mother  sick  in  heaven  !  I  must  keep  up, 
I  must  satisfy  hunger,  but  that  is  all.  There  is  no  pleas- 

[98] 


THE   HYPNOTIC   CLUB 


ure.  It  is  an  operation,  every  meal,  to  me  !  But  here,  in 
my  trance,  I  truly  Eat.  Such  food  !  Fried  octopus  from 
Honolulu,  the  essence  of  wild  oysters  from  the  Gulf  of 
California  ;  I  eat  the  Harwich  whelk,  live  Japanese  yellow- 
fish,  reindeer  hide  stewed  in  the  Norwegian  fashion,  seal- 
blubber,  and  whales'  tails,  Congo  locusts,  and  the  juicy 
porcupine  of  South  America.  Have  you  tasted  boiled  mas 
todon  ?  One  gets  such  a  chance  hardly  once  in  a  lifetime  ! 
I  have  desserts  and  sweets  prepared  from  receipts  translated 
from  Lucullus  himself.  My  God,  you  should  see  me  Eat ! " 

It  was  not  Roulhac's  practice  to  laugh  aloud,  but  now 
his  sleeves  were  full.  The  picture  was  abominably  funny, 
and  here,  he  thought,  was  the  one  member  of  the  club  who 
achieved  sincere  bliss.  He  arose  and  shook  Barowich  by 
the  hand,  saying  nothing.  The  controller  was  touched  by 
this  tribute  of  silence,  and,  after  a  tear,  turned  to  the  desk. 
He  was  evidently  preparing  the  menu  for  his  next  debauch. 

Such  was  the  Hypnotic  Club.  There  were  unsuccessful 
artists  who  painted  shrieking  canvases  at  night  and  swooned 
at  sight  of  them  next  day,  veterans  like  McArthur  who  re 
hearsed  their  old-time  martial  exploits,  chess  fiends  who 
played  interminable  games,  authors  who  wrote  impossible 
essays,  tradesmen  who  became  emperors,  and  politicians  who 
traveled  over  the  whole  globe  with  atlases  and  sought  to 
spell  a  constituency  in  the  planet  Mars.  One  and  all  min 
istered  to  their  private  weakness  and  sought  to  ingrain  folly, 
extending  in  dream  the  dominant  foible  till  it  grew  into  a 
monstrous  obsession.  Roulhac,  scatterbrain  as  he  was,  in 
some  way  realized  this,  and  he  grew  into  a  superb  superi 
ority.  He  would  play  with  the  players,  but  such  games 
should  not  control  him.  He  was  for  the  outrageous  ulti 
mate —  he  would  discover  the  New  World  of  P'olly. 

[99] 


UN, 


TIT 


doX/ 

Y    o     Y 


o 


Chapter 

THE    COUNTESS    ROUGE 

What  pushes  are  we  wenches  driven  fo, 
When  fifteen  once  has  found  us  ! 

(Two  Noble  Kinsmen.') 

1EFORE  he  had  had  time  enough  to  formu 
late  his  revolt  against  the  misapplied  op 
portunities  of  the  Hypnotic  Club,  before 
he  had  concocted  any  game  sufficiently  ma 
niacal  to  inspire  his  enthusiasm,  Roulhac 
Braghampton  received  inspiration  from  an 
unlooked-for  source. 

Meanwhile,  he  attended  the  daily  seances  and  observed 
the  methods  of  the  several  controllers.  He  took  his  hand, 
little  by  little,  under  the  direction  of  authority,  and  suc 
ceeded  easily  in  inducing  the  first  stages  of  hypnosis,  all 
that  was  required  in  the  elementary  experiments  of  the  as 
sociation.  He  read  all  the  works  upon  mesmerism  in  the 
library,  and,  before  long,  he  was  thoroughly  informed  upon 
the  science,  down  to  the  last  details  of  modern  develop 
ment.  He  attempted  experiments  described  in  foreign  sci 
entific  and  medical  papers,  and  carried  many  of  them  far 
beyond  the  point  where  his  informant  stopped.  The  field 
of  post-hypnotic  suggestion  attracted  him  most,  for  here, 
he  saw,  the  most  wonderful  results  could  be  obtained. 
Now,  this  form  of  magnetism  was  forbidden  by  the  by-laws 
of  the  club,  and  his  excursions  into  this  field  of  dream  were 

[  I001 


^nV^^ 


THE   COUNTESS    ROUGE 


attempted  only  with  the  greatest  circumspection,  so  as  not 
to  arouse  suspicion.  He  limited  his  suggestions  to  the 
opening  of  a  watch  at  a  certain  hour,  yawning,  or  the  im 
pelling  of  some  banal  remark.  He  stood  in  great  danger, 
but  he  took  the  risk,  for  the  trivial  experiments  of  the  club 
bored  him. 

Thus  Roulhac's  interest  began  to  depend  more  upon  his 
trials  with  others  than  upon  his  own  amusement  while 
under  the  influence  of  the  controller.  At  those  times  he 
gave  some  unimportant  suggestion,  and  spent  his  evenings 
in  dreams  of  the  theater,  rehearsing  some  particularly  well 
spiced  incident  of  his  past,  or  indulging  his  insatiable  curi 
osity  with  regard  to  the  denizens  of  the  town. 

UI  passed  a  curious  house  on  Pacific  Avenue,  today," 
he  would  say  to  the  controller.  u  The  architecture  was 
conceived  in  the  most  horrid  taste.  Aborted  columns,  im 
possible  brackets,  and  shocking  finials  sprawled  over  the 
facade,  and  the  fret-saw  and  turning  lathe  had  done  their 
worst.  The  whole  structure,  over-ornamented  and  mis- 
proportioned,  was  so  uneasily  designed  that  the  place  seemed 
about  to  explode.  I  wish  the  whole  front  of  this  structure 
to  be  removed,  so  that  I  may  see  the  occupants  in  their 
several  rooms,  like  fish  in  an  aquarium,  or  like  those  side- 
less  houses  we  see  set  upon  the  melodramatic  stage,  where 
a  snowstorm  howls  outside  and  the  villain  tortures  the  vir 
tuous  heroine  within.  I  wish  to  observe  the  manners  and 
customs  of  the  inhabitants  of  this  architectural  nightmare. 
I  would  know  what  kind  of  persons  are  content  to  in 
habit  so  atrocious  a  receptacle,  and  see  what  effect  it  has 
had  upon  their  lives,  their  liberties,  and  their  pursuit  of 
happiness." 

In   this    way    Roulhac    amused    himself  during  the  first 


•cr 

O 


0° 


LADT   MECHANTE 


>O 


week  or  so,  but  his  comparatively  aimless  machinations 
were  soon  interrupted  by  a  more  definite  attraction. 

The  memory  of  the  Countess  Rouge  still  survived,  and 
he  often  apostrophized  Miss  Harmony,  in  his  sitting-room, 
with  the  praises  of  the  missing  lady.  u  Until  you  wear  a 
blue  blouse  with  white  spots,  gold  braid,  and  brass  buttons," 
he  said  to  her  often  enough,  "  I  shall  not  be  happy.  You 
have  her  figure,  her  complexion,  her  hair;  why  not  her 
shirt-waist  ?  Some  day  you  may,  Gladdy,  old  girl,  and 
then  all  these  old-fashioned  rags  will  go  to  the  dump." 

It  must  not,  however,  be  imagined  from  this  that  Roulhac 
was  unfaithful  to  the  memory  of  the  mysterious  Kitty  Car 
mine.  He  thought  of  her,  at  times,  and  there  was  room 
enough  in  his  heart  for  both.  He  was  glad,  on  the  whole, 
remembering  her  strenuous  capacity,  that  she  had  not  writ 
ten  again,  though  he  would  have  been  delighted  at  the  pros 
pect  of  an  interview.  Roulhac  had  been  spoiled.  And 
besides,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  was  not  idle,  he  had  other  traps 
set,  and  these  he  attended  to  in  the  dreary  interim  while 
both  Kitty  and  the  Countess  held  themselves  aloof.  His 
correspondence  kept  him  busy  every  morning  at  his  table 
in  the  front  window  of  the  Peanut  Shell,  and  there,  while 
Roulhac  scribbled,  bit  his  pen,  and  cast,  now  and  then,  a 
nod  at  the  mountain  over  the  way,  or  a  wink  at  a  Pacific 
steamer  promenading  with  officious  pretense  through  the 
passage  of  the  Golden  Gate,  the  Lincoln  ogrillon  over  the 
mantel  found  sufficient  excuse  for  its  cynical  plaster  sneer, 
contemplating  this  sedentary  clerk  casting  his  epistolary 
boomerangs. 

He  was  discovered  thus,  one  day,  as  we  have  discovered 
him  before,  by  three  feet  of  messenger  boy  and  cigarette, 
who  had  leisurely  but  surely  carried  the  hill,  after  a  lively 

[102] 


THE    COUNTESS    ROUGE 


skirmish  with  the  gang  of  Jones  Street  juveniles.  The 
A.  D.  T.  Kid,  as  he  had  earned  the  right  to  be  called,  had 
not,  however,  exhausted  his  ammunition.  There  remained 
still  a  tongueful  of  slang,  which  he  handed  out  when  Roul- 
hac  opened  the  door  to  the  infant  terror. 

u  Say,  is  youse  de  Walkin'  Peanut  ?  "  inquired  the 
prodigy. 

u  You  get  onto  yourself,"  Roulhac  cheerfully  observed, 
"  or  I  '11  make  you  look  like  the  northeast  corner  of  a 
Hamburg  steak  after  the  dachshund  has  got  through 
with  it  !  " 

The  A.  D.  T.  Kid  looked  pleased  to  have  met,  at  last, 
a  gentleman  of  intelligence.  u  Say,"  he  said,  "  youse  all 
right,  all  right.  Youse  one  of  Nature's  aldermen,  for  fair  ! 
I  t'ought  youse  run  wid  de  tall-talk  push,  but  I  guess  yer 
know  de  American  langwidge  down  to  de  rubber  heels." 

u  If.  you  've  got  anything  for  me,  hand  it  out,  young 
Shakespeare,"  said  Roulhac,  "  then  go  and  talk  fog  and  tour 
ists  to  Mount  Tamalpais,  if  your  mouth  needs  exercise  !  " 

u  Gee  !  I  never  t'ought  I  'd  get  up  against  de  real  t'ing 
on  top  of  dis  mountain,"  the  messenger  went  on.  "Youse 
ought  to  call  dis  street  de  Roo  de  Ashbarrel.  De  sidewalks 
is  a  part  of  de  view,  up  here,  ain't  dey  ?  Here  's  yer  bill. 
Sign  here,  on  de  same  colyum  as  where  it 's  wrote.  See  ?  " 
And  a  dirty  finger  traveled  along  the  blue  line  in  his  receipt 
book. 

"Where  did  this  letter  come  from?"  Roulhac  asked, 
before  opening  the  envelope. 

"You'll  find  de  alias  inside,"  opined  the  Kid.  "It  was 
give  me  by  a  peacherolooino  on  Pine  Street.  Say,  youse 
got  a  dead  good  graft,  dere,  —  I'm  next  after  youse. 
Youse  just  lights  'em  an'  trows  'em  away,  don't  yer  ?  " 

[•03] 


LADY   M EC H ANTE 


"Never  mind  the  lady  ;  you've  got  nerve  enough  to  try 
to  make  Saint  Peter  jump  through  the  hoop.  Chase  your 
self,  now  !  " 

"  Oh,  youse  can't  side-step  me,"  the  youngster  said, 
jauntily.  "  I  shakes  every  tree  an'  I  play  notin'  but  blue 
chips  !  De  A.  D.  T.  Kid  seldom  gets  truncated.  Youse 
ain't  got  a  smoke,  now,  have  yer  ?  " 

Roulhac  indulgently  handed  him  a  large  cigar,  which  his 
guest  looked  at  knowingly.  "  Tree  parts  body-Brussels 
an'  one  part  rubber  boot,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  So  long  ! 
Don't  take  no  Patagonian  currency  till  I  see  youse  again  !  " 

The  two,  mutually  refreshed  by  the  picturesque  colloquy, 
separated,  one  to  run  the  gauntlet  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill, 
and  the  other  to  light  a  pipe  and  throw  himself  upon  the 
pink  couch  to  read  his  note,  as  an  epicure  should,  in  leisure 
and  comfort. 

He  was  disappointed  to  find  the  letter  consisting  of  but 
five  words.  "  Come  at  once.  Kitty  Carmine."  It  was 
dated  and  contained  the  address  of  a  fashionable  apartment 
house  on  Pine  Street. 

Luckily,  Roulhac  was  shaved,  and  to  tumble  into  morn 
ing  coat,  ribbed  trousers,  and  fawn-colored  waistcoat  took 
him  little  time.  A  silk  hat,  worn  usually  only  by  politi 
cians  and  undertakers  in  San  Francisco,  and  English  lead- 
colored  gloves  made  him  a  mark  for  the  depraved  insurgents 
waiting  below,  but  he  risked  the  notoriety.  As  he  stum 
bled  down  the  wooden  steps  of  the  rotting  sidewalk,  he  saw 
the  A.  D.  T.  Kid  engaged  in  the  noble  art  of  self-defense, 
easily  opposing  tongue  and  fist  to  the  pusillanimous  assaults 
of  a  horde  of  thin-blooded  vagrants  at  the  corner  grocery. 
This  diversion  saved  the  Braghampton  hat,  and  he  escaped 
easily  in  the  direction  of  the  Hyde  Street  grip. 


Y1TY1F 


^^fe4^A^i^A^^^: 
THE    COUNTESS    ROUGE 


Arrived  at  the  house  on  Pine  Street,  a  boy  in  buttons 
answered  the  bell,  and,  taking  Roulhac's  card,  left  him,  for 
a  time,  in  a  high  and  somber  hall,  decorated  in  blue  and 
orange.  Here  the  young  man  spent  his  time  in  front  of  a 
long  mirror,  criticising  his  costume,  till  a  voice  called  him, 
and  he  was  beckoned  up  by  the  boy  on  the  stairs  and  piloted 
through  several  halls  and  passages,  round  many  right  angles, 
into  a  small  room.  Pinned  to  the  outside  of  the  door  was 
a  torn  envelope,  bearing  the  penciled  legend:  "In  Miss 
Wilder's  room.  Back  in  ten  minutes." 

Here,  for  a  while  longer,  Roulhac  was  left  to  contem 
plate,  in  some  surprise,  a  confusion  of  newspapers,  photo 
graphs,  and  various  minor  articles  of  a  lady's  wardrobe, 
till,  with  a  sibilance  of  silken  skirts,  a  young  lady  swept 
into  the  room  with  a  careless  stride. 

It  was  the  Countess  Rouge  ! 

She  was  whistling  cheerfully,  and  her  hands  were  knot 
ting  the  scarf  under  her  white  linen  collar,  when  her  eyes 
first  encountered  the  young  man.  She  stared  at  him  point 
blank  for  a  second,  then,  before  he  had  a  chance  to  speak, 
she  seized  his  hand  and  ran  him  swiftly  down  the  hallway, 
dodging  one  corner  after  another,  skiving  the  furniture  on 
the  way,  and  propelled  him,  finally,  into  a  large  bare  room 
filled  with  windows.  Here  she  pointed  to  a  chair  and, 
laughing  as  if  her  heart  would  break,  disappeared  to  com 
plete  her  toilet. 

Roulhac,  mystified  by  the  whole  proceeding  and  the 
haste  of  their  flight,  dazed  with  its  sudden  revelation,  sat 
gagged  with  emotion.  The  discovery  that  Kitty  Carmine 
and  the  Countess  Rouge  were  the  same,  though  the  suspi 
cion  has  not,  it  is  likely,  escaped  the  avid  reader,  came 
upon  him  with  unexpected  delight.  Like  the  dazzling 

[  '05  ] 


% 


o 


n  l 


nvnrXQTC^ 


>o 


LADT   MECHANTE 


burst  of  a  Roman  candle,  many  starry  memories  exploded 
in  his  mind. 

He  looked  about  him  to  gain  some  hint  of  explanation 
from  the  chamber  in  which  he  now  found  himself,  but  it 
was  barren  of  suggestion.  The  ceiling  was  lofty,  out  of 
all  proportion  to  the  plan  of  the  apartment.  Upon  the 
vast  wallscape  a  little  sketch  or  two  was  pinned,  islands  in 
the  universal  sea  of  brown  tint.  A  folding  bed  bedizened 
with  a  plate  glass  mirror,  a  sofa,  and  two  chairs  shared  his 
loneliness ;  naked  poles  of  vanished  portieres  hung  at  the 
several  doors.  Upon  the  glaring  white  marble  mantel  were 
huddled  a  few  pictures  in  gilt  frames.  Four  lighted  gas 
jets  in  the  central  chandelier  mingled  with  the  sunlight. 
At  an  open  window  the  north  wind  tugged  snappishly  at  a 
half-raised  shade.  The  carpet  was  a  wild  green,  tangled 
with  a  restless,  intricate  pattern,  repeating  itself  laboriously 
over  the  waste  of  floor. 

He  walked  to  the  window  to  curb  the  restless  shade,  and 
looked  out.  Below  him  the  city  fell  towards  Market  Street 
in  a  jumble  of  flat  roofs,  pierced  by  the  spires  of  churches. 
Here  the  twin  minarets  of  the  synagogue  rose  in  Oriental 
curves  and  bulbs,  and  farther  away  the  few  tall  buildings 
occupied  by  the  newspaper  offices  rose  like  towers  over  a 
two-story  landscape.  Nearer,  on  Hyde  Street,  the  cable 
cars  came  and  went,  patrolling  a  scenic  railway  over  the 
tops  of  hills,  down  into  wooden  valleys,  round  sharp  curves 
and  up  steep  grades,  over  a  track  unequaled  for  outlook 
in  the  whole  world  —  the  conductor  picking  his  teeth, 
unconscious  of  his  gorgeous  fortune.  But  of  a  sudden, 
directly  below  him,  the  front  door  banged  and  a  man  hur 
ried  down  the  steps  to  board  a  passing  car. 

In  Roulhac's  mind  a  turmoil  of  suspicion  hissed  and 
F  106! 


COUNTESS    ROUGE 


frothed.  The  figure  was  strangely  like  —  and  yet,  it  was 
impossible  —  at  this  hour  of  the  day,  too  !  It  was  eleven 
o'clock.  Could  it  be?  It  was,  it  was  not,  it  might  be, — 
would  it  be  ?  could  it  be  ?  should  it  be  ?  Was  it  ?  Was 
it  not  ?  And  why  and  how  ?  No,  it  was  not  !  Yes,  it 
was  —  Barowitch,  the  waiter! 

The   Countess    Rouge   laid    a  jeweled    finger   upon    his 
shoulder. 

"  Now  the  stage  is  set,"  she  said,  "  shall  we  ring  up  the 
curtain  ?  *' 


"Who    in    Heaven's    name    are 


you  r 


Roulhac    de 


manded,  turning  to  her.  "  How  many  names  have  you  ?  " 
"As  many  as  I  have  costumes,"  she  replied.  "Just  at 
present,  I  am  Miss  Cicely  Fex.  In  the  blue  and  gold 
blouse,  the  Countess  Rouge,  at  your  service.  In  bottle- 
green  velvet,  you  may  call  me  Lady  Mechante.  Oh,  I 
don't  spare  the  list  of  names  in  the  back  of  the  diction 
ary  !  As  soon  as  I  hear  a  new  one  that  I  like,  off"  I  go  to 
my  dressmaker's  or  my  tailor's,  and  order  an  appropriate 
suit.  The  Christian  name  or  title  goes  always  with  the 
same  waist,  and  the  surname  with  the  skirt  ;  so,  if  I  had  the 
bad  taste  to  wear  a  blue  blouse  with  this,  I  should  be  forced 
to  call  myself  the  Countess  Fex.  In  the  same  way  I  might 
tomorrow  be  Lady  Rouge  or  Cicely  Mechante.  It  is  a 
simple  problem  in  Permutation  and  Combination." 

"But  sometimes  —  pardon  me  —  you  must  be  under  the 
necessity  of  wearing  no  gown.  In  your  robe  de  nuit,  now, 
for  instance,  who  are  you  then  ?  " 

"When  I  reveal  one,  I  shall  reveal  the  other,"  A'liss 
Fex  replied.  "  At  present  the  question  borders  on  famil 
iarity."  Unable  to  resist  the  temptation,  she  added  :  "And 
Familiarity  breeds  Attempt !  " 


LADT   MECHANTE 


"  Kitty  Carmine,  then  ;   who  is  she  ?  "   Roulhac  pursued. 

u  Ah,  that  was  because  I  happened  to  wear  a  red  cloak 
to  the  Matrimonial  Exchange,"  said  the  Countess,  for  it 
was  this  title  Roulhac  chose  to  adopt.  "You  would  not 
care  to  know  her.  No  style." 

Whether  or  not  Miss  Carmine  had  style,  the  present 
incumbent  of  that  vivacious  personality  possessed  it  to  a 
degree  that  did  Roulhac's  heart  good.  He  regarded  her 
with  admiration.  His  mind  went  to  her  advertisement 
where,  as  No.  2465,  she  had  stated  her  charms  and  require 
ments.  "Surely,"  he  said,  "you  cannot  find  it  hard  'to  be 
adored.'  Why  need  you  advertise  in  a  Matrimonial  Ex 
change  to  secure  that  ?  " 

"  Cheap  compliment  debarred,"  said  the  Countess.  "  Ad 
oration,  you  must  know,  is  a  lost  art.  Instead,  we  have  the 
modern  flirtation,  which  is,  I  am  informed,  strictly  Amer 
ican  ;  a  half-way  between  friendship  and  love,  in  which  the 
ghost  of  passion  coquettes  with  the  wraith  of  comradeship ; 
where  each  tries  to  get  as  much  as  he  can  and  to  give  as 
little;  which  has  a  sickly  sensuality  and  a  morbid  vanity 
for  its  progenitors  and  is  the  most  immoral  and  degenerate 
underminer  of  character  that  ever  cursed  a  people!  " 

She  spoke  soberly;  but,  this  turgid  declamation  over,  her 
head-  tilted  and  out  of  her  mouth  bubbled  the  most  deli 
cious  fountain  of  laughter.  Then  she  brought  down  her 
eyes  from  the  ceiling  and  leveled  them  at  her  companion. 
"  There  's  enough  for  your  catechism.  It 's  my  turn  now. 
What  is  your  name  ?  Is  it  really  such  excess  baggage  as 
you  pretend  ?  Roulhac  Braghampton,  indeed  !  What  penny- 
dreadful  did  you  emerge  from  ?  " 

The  young  man  almost  blushed  at  his  lack  of  invention. 
Then  he  said,  "  I  have  been  called  the  c  Walking  Peanut.' 

[108] 


THE    COUNTESS    ROUGE 


at  this.     "  Walking    Peanut  !  ! 
on    Vallejo    Street,"    she    cried. 


Such  is  the  fame  conferred  by  a  residence  on  Russian 
Hill." 

The    Countess   shrieked 
I    must    go    up    and    live 

"They  may  call  me  an  Upright  Egg!  There  's  no  knowing 
what  inspiration  I  might  have  there.  But  fancy  attempting 
to  provide  a  costume  for  such  a  sobriquet  !  " 

Roulhac  furtively  scanned  his  coat  and  felt  of  his  neck 
tie.  Was  he,  then,  appropriately  clad?  "Why  didn't 
you  answer  my  letters?  "  he  asked,  appealing  now  to  Kitty 
Carmine. 

The  Countess  smiled.  Indeed,  she  had  smiled  before, 
but  this  expression  had  more  meaning.  "  I  found  out  all 
I  wished  to  know,"  she  admitted.  "  You  proved  to  be  the 
one  I  was  looking  for,  and,  once  sure  of  you,  I  preferred  to 
wait  till  a  few  further  preparations  were  completed." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Roulhac,  somewhat  haughtily.  "  Are  you 
so  sure  of  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  as  sure  of  you  as  you  appear  to  be  sure  of 
yourself!  " 

This  remark  baffled  the  young  man,  but,  to  be  on  the 
safe  side,  he  decided  to  regard  it  as  a  compliment.  "Now 
what  are  you  going  to  do  with  me  ?  What  's  the  little  game  ?  " 

"  Game  ?  "  she  replied,  "  everything  is  a  game.  Is  n't  it 
game  enough  for  us  two  to  be  sitting  here,  in  this  naked 
room,  two  strangers  trying  to  get  acquainted  ?  Every  word 
you  say  is  a  revelation.  It  is  too  exciting  to  stand,  almost  ! 
What  do  I  know  about  you  ?  Here  we  are,  to  all  intents 
and  purposes  alone  in  the  whole  world  !  At  any  moment 
you  may  strip  off  your  conventional  disguise  as  a  Walking 
Peanut  and  confront  me  with  a  glimpse  of  your  character 
in  the  nude.  You  may  draw  a  dagger  on  me,  or  you  may 

[  109  ] 


^ 


LADT   M EC H ANTE 


murder  me  with  some  compromising  remark.  You  may 
say  c  cosy'  or  '  chat,'  or  you  may  shoot  some  vulgarism 
such  as  c  proposition  '  or  c  party '  or  '  balance  '  that  will  slay 
my  sensibilities  like  a  bullet !  Game !  I  tell  you  there  is 
nothing  so  exciting  in  the  whole  world  as  a  first  interview 
with  one  who  assays  over  eighty-five  per  cent  in  the  mint 
of  Mentality  !  " 

As  Roulhac's  head  went  round,  he  remembered  saying, 
"  But  it  is  not  the  first  time,  is  it  ?  There  was  that  day  at 
Campi's." 

"  That  was  but  my  reconnoissance,"  protested  the 
Countess.  "  This  skirmish  is  where  I  must  unmask  your 
batteries  and  feel  your  defense.  But,  seriously,"  she  went 
on,  "  I  have  my  idea.  I  embraced  the  opportunities  pro 
vided  by  the  Matrimonial  Exchange  to  gain  access  to  men 
whom  I  might  never  have  been  able  to  meet.  I  tried  them 
all,  and  you  were  the  only  one  qualified  to  become  my  ac 
complice.  You  have  humor,  tact,  and  resource,  I  believe. 
Now,  if  you  care  to  follow  such  a  will-o'-the-wisp  as  I,  I 
can  propose  a  stupendous  piece  of  folly,  well  worth  the 
while  of  the  man  who  pulled  down  the  Cogswell  Statue. 
I  like  you  !  " 

"  Ah,  you  are  an  American  girl,  after  all !  "  said  Roulhac. 
"You  will  soon  be  making  love  to  me." 

"  Slowpoke  !  "  cried  the  Countess,  in  a  rage.  Then 
flinging  a  small  chair  into  the  mirror  with  a  furious  gesture, 
she  returned  to  her  place.  "  Pardon  my  temper,  but  you 
exasperate  me,"  she  said.  "  I  must  play  my  part,  and  act 
up  to  my  title,  for  we  aristocrats  have  become  too  lenient 
with  our  duties.  Is  this  your  idea  of  a  first  call  ?  Why," 
and  she  pulled  out  a  little  watch  encrusted  with  rubies, 
"here  you  have  been  in  my  presence  ten  minutes  and  you 

[MO] 


THE    COUNTESS    ROUGE 


have  neither  kissed  me,  nor  obtained  a  lock  of  my  hair  or 
a  photograph  !  Am  I  such  a  moonface  ?  "  She  ran  to  the 
shattered  glass. 

It  is  not  by  such  sorties  as  this  that  a  man's  temperature 
is  raised,  and  the  Countess  knew  it.  She  had  seen  the 
young  man's  eyes  grow  restless  and  his  temperament  master 
him.  She  adopted  the  desperate  remedy,  and  with  this 
extravagant  charge  repelled  his  growing  impertinence  of 
manner.  The  bluff  succeeded,  and  Roulhac  grew  calm. 
It  would  be  time  enough,  when  he  lagged,  for  her  to  at 
tempt  the  Masterly  Retreat.  She  resumed  the  attitude  of 
the  lioness  couchant. 

Roulhac  regarded  her,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
having  lighted  a  cigarette  to  hide  his  confusion.  Her  gay 
gambado  eclipsed  his  own  addle-pated  idiosyncrasies,  yet 
he  was  not  fool  enough  to  mistake  the  method  in  her  bad 
ness.  u  Every  inch  a  Countess,"  he  mused.  u  I  '11  look 
out  to  see  she  does  n't  throw  scissors.  Lord  !  Have  I  got 
to  play  up  to  this  ?  "  Then,  aloud,  as  he  saw  her  smile  re 
appear,  he  said,  imitating  the  sibilant  flight  of  a  sky-rocket  : 
"  Thank  you  for  the  fireworks  !  But  we  're  getting  away 
from  the  subject.  About  your  game,  now,  if  you  please  ! 
Your  mirror  is  not  at  fault.  But  no  more  psychology  ;  you 
need  that  no  more  than  you  need  a  beauty  doctor.  Besides, 
I  know  how  to  make  the  best  of  this  stupid  world  —  I  'm 
a  confirmed  optimist  —  and  you  need  n't  coach  me  on 
drawing-room  amenities.  All  the  world  's  a  game,  and  you 
and  I  are  professional  gamblers.  Granted.  Now  for  your 
scheme  to  bunco  this  city  and  country." 

"  Are  you  truly  so  subtle  ?  "  demanded  the  Countess,  in 
delight.  "  Will  you  follow  me  blindfold  ?  " 

«  Is  it  a  Blind  Man's  Buff,  then  ?  "   said  Roulhac. 
[in] 


^ 

^VV^^ 


LADY   M ECU ANTE 


,o 


oJ: 


"  There  's  a  Niagara  of  energy  going  to  waste  in  this 
town,"  the  Countess  went  on.  "  This  I  want  to  divert, 
that  it  may  divert  us.  Now,  you  are  the  one  to  help  me, 
if  you  have  the  deplorable  inconsequence  of  purpose  that  I 
have  diagnosed.  In  a  word,  you  are  a  member  of  the 
Hypnotic  Club." 

"  You  know  that,  too  !  "  ejaculated  Roulhac.  "  What 
secret  influence  connects  you  with  that  society  ?  Your 
look  conjures  up  many  suspicions.  I  seem  to  have  seen 
you  before,  besides  that  strange  appearance  at  Campi's." 

"  First,  let  me  ask  your  opinion  of  the  club  and  its  man 
agement,"  she  wheedled. 

Moved  by  a  singular  confidence,  Roulhac  poured  out  his 
contempt  for  the  inadequacy  of  the  association.  He  nar 
rated  the  childish  methods  the  members  adopted  to  provide 
an  evening's  entertainment,  and,  growing  bolder,  he  con 
fessed  his  own  experiments  with  his  fellow-members.  The 
Countess  aided  his  breast-cleaning  with  many  nods  of 
encouragement. 

"  I  thought  the  evidence  of  your  fifty  letters  could  not 
deceive  me,"  she  said.  "  But  I  don't  see  why.  you  have  not 
discovered  the  handle  with  which  to  brandish  this  instru 
ment.  Now  let  me  explain,  in  my  turn,  for  I  am  sure  I 
can  trust  you." 

She  went  on,  then,  with  her  own  experience,  explaining 
many  of  the  circumstances  that  had  perplexed  him.  She 
had  become  acquainted  with  the  possibilities  of  the  Hypnotic 
Club  through  her  acquaintance  with  Barowich,  whose  post 
prandial  indiscretions  had  put  her  in  possession  of  all  the 
secrets  of  the  association. 

Fascinating  his  conceit  with  many  quiet  conversations  at 
Campi's  after  the  lunchers  had  left  that  establishment  quiet 


O 


THE    COUNTESS    ROUGE 


for  their  tete-a-tete,  the  Countess  Rouge  had  obtained  a 
supremacy  over  the  waiter  sufficient  to  ensure  her  a  large 
interest  in  the  private  history  of  the  club.  She  had  even 
allowed  him  to  call  at  her  Pine  Street  rooms  and  had  prac 
ticed  upon  him  the  art  of  mesmerism,  in  order,  through 
him,  to  gain  sway  over  the  other  members.  She  had  com 
pelled  him  to  give  to  the  members  many  post-hypnotic 
suggestions  that  he  himself  was  made  to  forget,  and  in 
this  way,  to  test  her  power,  she  had  conceived  the  idea  of 
compelling  Professor  Dolittle  to  rise  and  speak  that 
Friday  noon  when  Roulhac  was  present.  She  had  re 
served  the  power  to  awaken  the  Professor  from  that 
specially  induced  trance,  and  had  calmed  him  with  the 
proper  words. 

In  order  to  observ.e  the  workings  of  the  club  to  better 
advantage,  she  had  taken  rooms  at  No.  I  Key  Court ;  she 
had  witnessed  Roulhac's  part  in  the  scene  with  Colonel 
McArthur,  and,  seeing  his  name  upon  the  card  given  to  Mr. 
Rappp,  she  had  identified  him  with  the  versatile  correspond 
ent  of  the  Matrimonial  Exchange.  Thus  provided  with  a 
skillful  accomplice,  it  remained  necessary  only  to  dispose 
of  Barowich,  and  in  this  she  had  been  interrupted  by  the 
hall  boy's  stupidity  in  showing  her  guest  up  to  her  private 
apartment,  where  Barowich  himself  had  barely  escaped  see 
ing  the  newcomer. 

"  And  now,"  she  concluded,  "  to  work  !  There  is  much 
to  be  done.  We  are  to  entertain,  not  only  ourselves,  but 
a  city  !  Inch  by  inch  we  must  obtain  control  of  the 
club,  we  must  enlarge  the  field  of  post-hypnotic  suggestion 
till  we  have  the  members  thoroughly  under  our  influence, 
we  must  start  branch  organizations,  and  bring  them  into 
the  attraction  of  the  magnet  we  hold.  Are  you  mad  enough, 

8  ["3] 


LADY  MECHANTE 


glad  enough,  bad  enough  for  this  ?     We  shall  be   monarchs 
of  Dreamland  !  " 

Roulhac,  Walking  Peanut  though  he  was,  embraced  her 
with  rapture.  The  mirror  had  not  been  smashed  for 
nothing ! 


-9-2- 


-9£v^sa£^y£-£ 


Chapter 

THE    LEAGUE    OF    DREAMS 

These  are  the  pranks  and  friskins  of  her  madness. 

(Two  Noble  Kinsmen.) 

obtain  a  supremacy  in  the  Hypnotic  Club, 
and  bring  all  the  members  under  his  direct 
control,  was  now  Roulhac's  set  purpose, 
and,  aided  by  the  fertile  suggestions  of  the 
Countess  Rouge,  this  proved  to  be  no  very 
difficult  affair.  By  skillful  manipulation 
he  arranged,  first,  that  his  evening  as  controller  came  round 
oftener  than  the  rotative  scheme  provided.  The  officer  of 
the  night  was  prevented  from  appearing  by  means  of  false 
telegrams,  to  accomplish  which  the  A.  D.  T.  Kid  was 
suborned.  Others  found  themselves,  at  his  suggestion, 
indisposed  to  attempt  the  labor  of  hypnotizing  the  members, 
and  so,  by  means  of  a  hint  here  and  a  word  there,  an  intro 
duction  to  his  fascinating  copartner,  the  liberal  use  of 
cigars,  and  many  other  wiles  and  ruses,  Mr.  Roulhac  Brag- 
hampton  became  the  popular  and  trusted  center  about  which 
the  club  revolved. 

This,  however,  was  not  accomplished  without  incurring 
the  enmity  of  the  head  waiter  at  Campi's.  His  questions 
were  often  embarrassing,  and  his  curiosity  hard  to  divert. 
A  streak  of  misfortune  coming  to  Barowich  at  about  this 
time,  however,  played  into  Roulhac's  hand,  and  the  loan  of 

[  "Si 


w 


tFY 


V 


MECHANTE 


a  considerable  sum  of  money  bribed  the  man  for  a  while  to 
abstain  from  any  open  revolt.  It  was  evident,  nevertheless, 
that  he  was  biding  his  time,  a  snake  coiled  in  the  grass, 
and  that  he  hoped  to  take  advantage  later  of  the  influence 
Roulhac  had  attained. 

The  club  once  well  in  hand,  the  two  conspirators  experi 
mented  tentatively  with  the  tool  at  their  disposal.  While 
Roulhac  had  essayed  only  such  simple  suggestions  as  the 
passing  of  an  absurd  remark,  this  had  been  easy.  It  was 
not  extraordinary,  in  that  city,  for  a  man  to  burst  out  with 
the  statement  that  the  climate  of  California  was  canned  in 
Paradise  and  sent  to  the  Pacific  Coast  for  the  especial  delec 
tation  of  the  Native  Sons  of  the  Golden  West,  or  that  the 
present  season  was  exceptional,  it  having  not  been  so  hot 
or  so  cold,  so  wet  or  so  dry,  as  the  case  might  be,  since 
'49.  In  that  land  every  citizen  is  a  self-constituted  real- 
estate  agent,  and  feels  it  his  duty  to  boom  the  country.  It 
was  even  declared,  by  Roulhac's  victims,  that  Market  Street 
was  the  finest  boulevard  in  the  world,  and  that  the  City 
Hall  compared  favorably  with  the  capitols  of  most  Euro 
pean  cities.  But  he  now  essayed  a  more  dangerous  game. 
The  Countess  Rouge  was  at  his  elbow,  and  such  innocuous 
pleasantry  was  not  sufficiently  exciting  for  her  ravenous 
appetite  for  sensation.  It  was  her  aim  to  Londonize  San 
Francisco,  to  plant  the  seeds  of  culture,  refinement,  and 
convention,  to  raise  the  wooden  village,  in  short,  and  that 
as  suddenly  as  possible,  to  the  rank  of  a  modern  city. 

It  was  not  long,  then,  before  the  town  was  shocked  with 
the  eccentric  behavior  of  the  Hypnotic  Club.  The  mem 
bers,  incited  by  the  alluring  insinuations  of  the  giddy 
Countess,  began  to  prate  of  Nietzsche,  Stephen  Phillips,  and 
Conrad,  instead  of  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox  and  Ambrose 

[116] 


A  90  A  go 


THE   LEAGUE    OF   DREAMS 


Bierce.  One  heard  of  "  Les  Fauves,"  of  De  Bussy,  of 
Bahiism,  of  Feminism  and  Marcelle  Tinayre.  The  latest 
cry  in  Kensington  —  "The  Souls,"  or  Sociological  Ro 
mance —  flew  to  No.  7  Key  Court  and  there  found 
nourishing  lodgment.  Silk  hats  and  frock-coats  were  seen 
on  Kearny  Street  of  a  weekday  forenoon,  and  warehouses 
began  to  be  opened  at  nine  A.  M.  Merchants,  live  mer 
chants,  had  tea  and  toast  brought  in  at  four  o'clock  for 
their  office  boys,  and  hosiers  made  fortunes  in  lead-colored 
gloves. 

From  this,  the  next  step  was  easy.  The  members  were 
sent  as  emissaries  into  various  quarters  of  the  town,  and 
soon,  with  this  original  organization  as  a  nucleus,  lodges 
were  invested  all  over  San  Francisco.  In  the  Mission 
there  was  a  congregation  of  mechanics.  In  Tar  Flat  the 
hoodlums  combined  under  the  banner  of  the  league.  Aris 
tocrats  from  the  Western  Addition  flocked  to  the  club- 
rooms.  The  Barbary  Coast  emptied  its  dance  halls,  and 
on  Rincon  Hill  the  oldest  residents  bore  them  company. 
In  Chinatown  there  were  lodges  of  coolies,  laundrymen,  and 
shopkeepers.  In  Butchertown  the  cattlemen  fought  for 
admittance.  The  craze  for  hypnotism  spread  down  the  San 
Bruno  Road  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  Nob  Hill  was 
infected  with  millionaires  and  railway  magnates  well  under 
the  spell.  In  the  Latin  Quarter  the  seed  grew,  and  along 
the  Water  Front  the  branch  organizations  were  alive  with 
sleepy  stevedores  and  fishermen.  Across  the  Bay,  Oakland 
and  Alameda  and  Berkeley  came  into  line,  and  in  Sausalito 
and  Belvedere  the  English  residents  and  cottagers  pledged 
their  faith. 

Thus,  like  a  mighty  pestilence,  grew  the  League  of 
Dreams.  From  one  to  another  lodge  Roulhac  and  the 


LADY   M EC H ANTE 


Countess  Rouge  flew,  weaving  the  meshes  of  the  great 
conspiracy.  Slowly  but  surely,  with  irresistible  cunning, 
they  bound  their  followers  head  and  foot  in  their  toils,  till 
each  branch  was  well  in  hand.  This  task  was  completed 
with  the  training  of  some  intelligent  subordinate  controller, 
who  proceeded  along  the  lines  that  Roulhac  had  himself 
appointed. 

There  came  a  day,  at  last,  when  each  lieutenant  had 
announced  that  his  supremacy  over  the  affairs  of  the  lodge 
to  which  he  belonged  was  welded  firm.  It  now  remained 
only  to  bind  these  petty  tyrants  and  lead  all  the  wires  into 
the  hands  of  the  mischievous  pair.  By  early  spring  the 
herculean  task  was  accomplished  and  Countess  Rouge  made 
ready  for  the  master-stroke. 

By  this  time,  in  and  about  the  city  of  San  Francisco, 
there  had  been  established  some  fifty  lodges  of  the  League 
of  Dreams.  The  membership  of  each  stood  at  nearly 
twenty ;  there  were,  therefore,  at  least  a  thousand  men 
under  the  influence  of  the  twin  rulers  of  this  secret  fra 
ternity.  Each  lodge  had  been  put  through  its  paces  and 
extraordinary  trials  had  merited  the  confidence  of  Roulhac 
and  his  irresponsible  partner.  On  Nob  Hill  wealthv  and 
influential  but  private-spirited  citizens  had  presented  the 
city  with  valuable  gifts  of  real  estate.  Chinamen  had  dis 
carded  cues,  butchers  had  started  Tolstoi  clubs,  Italian 
fishermen  had  joined  the  Prohibition  party,  Oakland  resi 
dents  had  instituted  an  all-night  ferry  ;  but  the  end  was  not 
yet.  The  Countess  had  tired  of  utilitarian  tests  ;  reform 
bored  the  Walking  Peanut.  The  world  was  too  dull  and 
colorless,  they  both  agreed.  Both  were,  at  heart,  merry 
makers,  and  nothing  but  a  jest  in  wild  Rococo  or  Baroque 
would  satisfy  them. 

[  "8] 


THE 

LEAGUE 

OF 

DREAMS 

Lurking  constantly  in  the  background  of  their  hopes, 
however,  was  Barowich,  the  waiter.  Impecunious  and 
dyspeptic,  he  yet  had  the  power  to  annoy  them  with  his 
espionage.  He  had  persistently  defied  their  hypnotic  influ 
ence,  and  in  secret  he  attempted  to  undo,  strand  by  strand, 
the  skeins  of  their  gorglorious  net.  But  Roulhac's  power, 
increasing  by  steady  employment  and  experience,  had  grown 
too  strong  for  the  opposition  of  this  cynical  gourmet.  Roul 
hac's  sway,  besides,  had  been  largely  fortified  by  his  tact  and 
daring  suggestion.  He  was  able  to  keep  the  whole  mem 
bership  of  the  League  employed  in  entrancing  occupations 
which  none  of  them  would  have  been  able  to  invent  for 
himself.  He  had  the  whole  world  at  his  disposal  and  the 
paltriest  initiate  could  be  treated  to  the  sport  of  kings,  the 
existence  of  which,  however,  he  would  never  have  known 
had  it  not  been  for  the  controller's  paternal  advice.  The 
League,  sunk  in  such  sensuality,  drinking  deep  of  hitherto 
unsuspected  delights,  was  as  slothful  as  the  Roman  Empire 
in  the  Decadence,  and  Roulhac,  like  a  virile  Gothic  con 
queror,  held  it  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  or,  to  be  more 
strict  with  our  metaphor,  passed  it  over  to  the  dainty,  deli 
cate  and  delightful  palm  of  the  Countess  Rouge. 


V1TY1FY1? 


-aS-Aj2-2-A-2-£. 


^V$4 

M^-Jr-il 


A 


Chapter  €tgf)t 

THE    PREHISTORIC    PARADE 

7V0  woman-keeper  ;'  /£<?  world, 

Though  she  had  practiced  seven  year  at  tbe  pest-bouse, 
Could  have  done  '/  quaint  Her. 

(The  White  Devil.) 


was  May  in  California  !  The  rains  were 
over  and  the  sodden  hills,  changing  from 
brown  to  vivid  green,  bloomed  with  wild 
flowers.  The  spring  came  galloping  up  from 
the  south  in  triumph,  scattering  violets  and 
poppies,  trillium  and  buttercups  widecast, 
and  the  skies,  leaden  before,  were  frescoed  in  living  blue. 
The  meadow-lark  was  heard  in  the  open  and  the  odor  of 
early  roses  came  up  on  the  breeze.  It  was  May  in  California  ! 
Constant  association  with  the  debonair  Countess  had 
weakened  Roulhac's  heart,  and  any  violent  shock  now 
would  be  likely  to  bring  about  a  serious  affection.  If  he 
knew  it,  he  did  not  care,  and,  hand  in  hand  with  her,  he 
danced  through  their  frolic  farce,  watching  for  her  smile, 
more  and  more  swayed  by  her  dominant  personality.  What 
depths  in  her  heart  were  touched  he  did  not  know.  There 
were  so  many  frivolous  waves  upon  the  surface  of  her  emo 
tions  one  could  never  judge  of  the  currents  below.  It  is 
not  only  still  waters  that  run  deep.  She  distracted  him, 
however,  whenever  he  would  be  serious,  and,  even  in  their 
quieter  moments,  she  seemed  on  her  guard.  This  much 


120 


°0 


^^^ 


THE    PREHISTORIC   PARADE 


only  he  knew  of  her  past :  that  she  was  English,  that  she 
had  been  married  to  one  Leopold  Gaillarde,  and  that,  after 
his  death,  she  had  achieved  a  sensational  career  in  London. 
Roulhac  was  of  the  opinion  that,  in  a  previous  incarnation, 
the  pseudo  Countess  had  been  a  pin-wheel.  She  combined 
in  her  character  and  action  the  brilliancy,  the  fire,  and  the 
apparently  useless  and  fitful  energy  of  that  humble  pyro- 
technical  engine.  When  she  died,  Roulhac  thought  with  a 
smile,  her  soul  would  pass  into  an  automobile.  She  was 
one  to  give  one  a  run  for  one's  money,  was  Florizelle 
Gaillarde,  alias  Lady  Mechante,  alias  the  Countess  Rouge, 
alias  Kitty  Carmine,  alias  Cicely  Fex,  alias  et  alia:. 

She  was  congenial,  however,  and  amenable  to  his  ways ; 
complaisant  beyond  the  strict  limits  of  conventional  deco 
rum.  She  came,  occasionally,  to  his  rooms  in  the  Peanut 
Shell,  and  there  they  had  often  a  snug  and  easy  lunch,  a 
matter  of  underdone  steaks,  broiled  oysters  deftly  spitted  on 
hat  pins,  Welsh  rabbit  stewed  in  a  tin  pie  plate  at  Roul- 
hac?s  open  fire,  or  an  egg  or  two  stuffed  by  the  Countess's 
fair  hands,  the  corpulent  strawberries  of  the  season,  and  a 
bon  ?not  or  two  for  condiment  to  flavor  companionship, 
withal,  and  always  a  kiss  or  three  for  dessert.  It  was  at 
such  a  quiet  hour  that  the  climax  was  brought  about. 
Roulhac  was  dangerously  near  to  a  proposal,  and  the 
Countess  feared  him. 

"  We  are  now  at  the  acme  of  success,"  the  Countess 
began.  "We  are  the  gods  in  the  machine;  it  is  time  for 
us  to  enter  and  give  a  sharp  change  to  all  this  routine.  We 
have  tried  didactic  suggestion,  and  I  confess  I  am  wearied 
of  that  pursuit.  There  are  too  many  reformers  in  the  world 
already."  Here  she  lighted  a  cigarette.  "  Philanthropy  is 
death  to  Romance.  I  suspect  even  you,  sometimes,  of 


-9-?rA  ?-^±$-2r<<^ 

OnLAc^^li^rr^^^rt^^A/rr?^^ 

LADY   MECHANTE 


being  inclined  in  that  direction.  No  doubt  you  'd  pull 
down  this  ramshackle  little  cottage  and  put  up  an  c  Artistic 
Home,'  if  I  'd  give  my  consent.  But  see,  now,  how  delir 
iously  all  the  doors  stand  ajar.  There  is  not  a  right  angle 
in  the  house  !  " 

"  What  do  you  propose,  then  ?  "  said  Roulhac.  u  I 
deny  the  accusation.  I  am  no  fonder  of  the  level  and  per 
pendicular  standards  than  you.  Have  n't  we  had  our  fun 
with  the  League  of  Dreams  ?  What  more  can  we  do  ?  I 
see  the  necessity,  but  who  was  the  father  of  Invention  ? 
I  '11  stand  for  anything  !  " 

"  If  I  believed  that,"  said  the  Countess,  dreamily. 

"  I  swear  it  !  "  cried  her  adorer.  u  Turn  San  Francisco 
upside  down  and  I  '11  help  you  push  !  " 

"  Tell  me,  then,"  she  said,  with  a  strange  light  in  her 
blue  eyes,  "do  you  wear  night-shirts  ?  " 

"Never!"  cried  the  young  man.  "Pajamas  have  I 
worn  since  I  slept  in  red  flannels." 

"  I  was  once  married  to  a  man  who  wore  night-shirts," 
pursued  the  erratic  lady,  "  and,  though  I  saw  them  seldom, 
I  always  hailed  their  appearance  with  infinite  glee  !  " 

u  Why  with  glee,  and  why  did  you  see  them  seldom?" 
Roulhac  allowed  himself  to  inquire. 

"  Seldom,  because  my  husband,  dear  old  Leopold,  was  a 
burglar ;  he  was  not  often  at  home  nights,  except  on  Sun 
days  and  bank  holidays.  And  with  glee,  because,  saving 
the  domestic  hen,  there  is  nothing  so  ridiculous  under 
Heaven  as  a  man  in  a  night-shirt.  That  long,  stiff, 
starched  jet  white  straight-sided  garment  will  be  the  death 
of  me  yet  !  Give  me  a  man  in  a  night-shirt  to  contem 
plate,  and  you  may  pull  out  all  my  teeth  and  I  shall  never 
notice  it !  It  is  the  sublimest  creation  of  masculine  attire. 

[122] 


^^Av^^A^.^ 
THE    PREHISTORIC    PARADE 


All  your  cylindrical  clothes  are,  to  the  artist,  laughable,  but 
the  night-shirt  eclipses  folly.  Jupiter  in  a  night-shirt  would 
lose  his  godhead.  No  wonder  no  man  is  a  hero  to  his  valet, 
if  he  wears  an  object  like  that ! ' 

Roulhac  felt  himself  borne  along  on  this  wave  of  enthu 
siasm,  and  in  his  mind's  eye  the  diverting  pantomime  glowed. 
He  saw  Colonel  McArthur,  with  his  wad  of  sponge-colored 
hair,  in  a  night-shirt.  There  was  no  possible  doubt  that  he 
wore  them.  He  was  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school.  He 
saw  Rappp  thus  clad,  and  Professor  Dolittle  in  a  waving 
robe  of  white  linen,  with  three  buttons  down  the  front. 
Ruby,  too,  —  Ruby,  the  beau,  in  this  absurd  attire,  scaring 
away  Cupid.  He  mentioned  his  vision  to  the  Countess, 
and,  infected  by  this  madness,  the  two  gasped  with 
hysteria. 

The  Countess  went  on.  "  If  one  man  in  a  night-shirt 
is  so  ridiculous,  then  what  under  Heaven  would  be  the  spec 
tacle  of  ten,  of  a  hundred  ?  "  She  arose  and  waxed  theatri 
cal.  "  A  THOUSAND  MEN  IN  NIGHT-SHIRTS  !  ! ! 
Eureka  !"  she  screamed,  and  went  off  into  a  new  paroxysm. 

In  a  half-hour  they  had  calmed,  and  exiled  Reason  stalked 

through  the  door  to   handshake   Madness.      Meanwhile  the 

t> 

two  had  cut  and  dried  their  ways  and  means.  The  hide 
ous  plot  was  hatched  and  brooded  in  their  minds.  The 
Supreme  Adventure  began  to  take  shape. 

A  week  sufficed  for  preparation.  This  was  the  pro 
gramme  :  a  general  convention  of  the  League  was  to  be 
called,  and  during  its  session  the  heads  of  lodges  were  to 
be  gathered  and  instructed  in  the  details  of  this  monstrous 
jest. 

Roulhac's  work  had  been  done  too  well  not  to  succeed. 
Every  order  was  strictly  obeyed.  The  clans  gathered,  and 


TT1 


TDT 


LADT   MECHANTE 


the  whole  membership  was  mustered  in  Golden  Gate  Hall 
for  speeches  and  feed.  Speeches  and  feed,  feed  and 
speeches,  held  them  spellbound  while  the  lieutenants  were 
hypnotized  and  the  last  hideous  suggestions  injected  into 
their  sodden  brains.  The  membership  at  large  was  in  turn 
inoculated,  until  the  league  as  a  whole  was  primed  for  the 
public  display.  The  procession  was  ordered  to  assemble 
at  Key  Court,  and  to  proceed  down  Geary  Street  preceded 
by  a  band  of  martial  music. 

On  the  festal  night  the  Countess  Rouge,  in  her  blue 
dotted  blouse,  took  her  place  with  Roulhac  Braghampton  in 
the  windows  of  a  rented  room  in  the  third  floor  of  the  Lick 
House.  Spick  and  span  was  the  dainty  widow,  her  red 
hair  glowing  underneath  a  Russian  toque,  her  eyes  burning 
with  expectation.  The  Walking  Peanut  beside  her  sent 
many  a  fervent  glance  in  her  direction,  and  his  fingers, 
clasped  in  hers,  tightened  as  the  dimple  went  and  came  in 
her  smooth  pink  cheek.  They  sat  like  two  children  await 
ing  a  circus  parade  —  eager,  fearful,  curious. 

Then,  from  afar,  the  strains  of  a  brass  band  floated  down 
to  them  in  a  slow  crescendo,  first  in  the  steady  punctuation 
of  the  bass  drum,  then  the  scream  of  the  cornets,  finally 
throbbing  with  the  thumping  accompaniment  of  the  pump 
ing  trombones.  Then,  with  a  great  bursting  wave  of  har 
mony,  the  head  of  the  procession  swung  round  the  corner 
and  turned  into  Montgomery  Street,  and  swept  towards 
them.  The  crowd,  keen  for  a  new  sensation,  halted  on 
the  curb,  or  rushed  up  to  meet  the  advancing  throng.  The 
show  was  a  surprise  to  the  town,  and,  here  and  there,  po 
licemen  hurried  to  the  center  of  interest,  making  impromptu 
preparations  for  the  moving  procession.  Now  the  band, 

['Hi 


3  u  IS4-V-1  U  |S4->^1  u  IS4-VI  u  f" 

^v^T^W 


JL^A^L^ 


THE    PREHISTORIC    PARADE 


bursting  in  the  throes  of  a  bombastic  march,  was  under 
neath  the  windows  of  the  Lick  House,  and  the  first  ranks 
of  the  League  of  Dreams  tramped  heavily  across  Post 
Street,  a  burly  stevedore  at  the  head  bearing  the  banner 
of  the  Barbary  Coast  Lodge  No.  37.  A  broad  passage  was 
opened  for  them ;  the  street  cars  were  halted,  and,  from 
the  Wave  office,  across  the  street,  a  faint  scattering  cheer 
rose  like  a  cluster  of  pink  balloons. 

The  Countess's  clasp  on  Roulhac's  hand  had  grown 
tighter  at  sight  of  the  lines  of  men.  Now  she  rose  with  a 
fire  in  her  eye,  her  lips  half  open,  her  small  fists  clenched. 
She  leaned  far  out  over  the  sill,  shooting  an  entrancing  look 
at  the  procession,  which  had  now  filled  the  street.  Sud 
denly,  in  a  piercing  voice  she  cried  to  the  mob  below  : 

"Halt!" 

The  parade  stopped,  instantly  paralyzed  at  the  sound  of 
her  command.  A  triple  row  of  turned-up  faces  whitened 
the  street  below.  Nothing  stirred,  till,  fighting  his  way 
through  the  press,  his  eyes  rolling  with  passion,  his  lips 
churning  a  foam  of  froth,  his  arms  waving  a  fierce  protest, 
screaming  commands  to  the  galvanized  figures  that  packed 
the  street,  his  hat  off,  his  collar  loose,  Barowich,  the  waiter, 
boiling  with  Slavonic  fury,  now  a  raving  madman,  appeared 
below.  "  Wake  up,  wake  up!"  he  howled.  "Wake  up 
and  don't  mind  her  !  "  He  was  seized  by  an  immense  Irish 
policeman  and  held  in  an  iron  grip. 

Then  again  the  shrill  voice  of  the  Countess  Rouge  rang 
out  like  a  bugle  call : 

"READY,  — NOW!  !  !" 

There  was  a  prolonged  wriggle  all  along  the  line,  incom 
prehensible  to  the  dazed  minds  of  the  inquisitive  onlookers. 
A  thousand  hats  were  thrown  off,  and  silk  topper,  derby, 


LADT   MECHANTE 


straw,  and  pugaree  were  strewn  upon  the  asphalt.  Then, 
two  thousand  arms  writhed  in  the  air  and  a  thousand  coats — 
frock,  sack,  and  cutaway,  blouse,  jacket,  and  jumper  —  car 
peted  the  street.  With  one  prolonged  convulsive  squirm,  as 
if  some  monstrous  serpent  were  shedding  its  skin,  the  trou 
sers  of  the  whole  League  came  off,  vests  were  discarded, 
and,  standing  stiff  as  a  human  Stonehenge,  an  army  in  white 
linen  uniform,  naked  of  shin  and  hoof,  the  League  of  Dreams 
stood  assembled  in  its  night-shirt,  quivering  wretchedly  in  the 
evening  chill.  Up  and  down  the  street  the  procession  was 
stalled  like  a  snow-drift.  Dago  fishermen  and  negro  barber, 
millionaire  and  contractor,  scavengers  and  bankers,  all 
equal  now,  all  reduced  to  the  lowest  terms,  the  Greatest 
Common  Denominator  being,  for  that  historic  hour,  a 
bleached  night-shirt.  As  they  stood  there,  transfixed,  rich 
and  poor  in  one  common  condition,  their  equality  was  that 
bestowed  by  Death  alone.  Along  the  sidewalks  the  vast 
crowd  brooded,  too  overcome  by  the  display  to  move. 
Mothers  clutched  their  little  children  in  their  arms  and 
turned  away  their  eyes.  Strong  men  held  their  strong 
breaths  and  dared  not  speak.  Careless  youths  chewed 
tobacco  to  pulp,  wondering  if  such  things  might  be.  The 
police,  who  had  at  first  made  frenzied  attempts  to  stop 
the  general  disrobing,  sheathed  their  clubs  and  glared, 
abandoning  the  futile  attempt  at  interference  with  the 
tableau. 

Above,  in  the  third  story  of  the  Lick  House,  the  Count 
ess  could  hardly  control  herself.  Her  beauteous  bosom 
heaved.  The  strident  excitement  of  the  moment  all  but 
prostrated  her.  But,  before  the  mass  beneath  had  begun 
to  move,  she  cried  out  again  into  the  street  her  magic 
command  : 


THE    PREHISTORIC    PARADE 


" SLEEP ! " 

With  that,  a  thousand  inanimate  forms  fell  before  the 
eyes  of  the  ever-increasing  throng  ;  and,  falling,  did  not  rise 
again.  There  in  the  paved  street  they  lay  in  windrows, 
like  corpses  after  some  mighty  battle,  piled  in  lines,  their 
shirt-tails  fluttering,  their  bare  feet  projecting  with  meaning 
less  gestures,  a  thousand  men  asleep  in  the  public  highway, 
a  thousand  men  in  night-shirts  blocking  the  traffic  of  Mont 
gomery  Street,  a  thousand  noses  snoring  in  unison  under 
the  spitting  violet  rays  of  the  cold,  calm  electric  arcs,  a 
thousand  breasts  rising  and  falling  in  abandoned  inspiration. 

It  was  not  till  the  rout  fell  that  the  Countess's  emotion, 
rising  to  fever  pitch,  threatened  her  reason.  Her  face  went 
white,  her  smile  frozen  upon  her  lips.  She  sank  back  into 
the  room  and  clung  to  her  partner  with  her  eyeballs  staring, 
her  face  convulsed  with  an  expression  of  agony. 

"  Roulhac  !  Roulhac  !  "  she  shrieked,  "  save  me  !  If  I 
laugh,  I  shall  die  !  iMy  mind  will  give  way —  if  I  let  my 
self  laugh  once,  I  shall  roll  in  convulsions  !  Oh,  oh,  oh  ! 
Roulhac,  if  you  love  me,  save  me  from  laughing.  Don't 
let  me  look  at  them  !  " 

Years  hence,  perhaps,  the  Countess  may  safely  recall  that 
sight.  Now  heroic  measures  were  necessary  to  prevent 
collapse.  He  sought  for  a  counter-irritant,  slapped  her 
sharply  upon  the  face  and  hands,  swore  a  punctilious  oath 
at  her,  and  hurried  her  down  the  back  stairway  into  a  rear 
courtyard,  and  thence  into  Sutter  Street,  where,  hailing  a 
cab,  he  drove  with  haste  towards  her  rooms.  He  did  not 
allow  her  to  look  back,  lest,  like  Lot's  wife,  some  terrible 
visitation  should  paralyze  her;  but  as  he  bespoke  the  driver 
he  saw,  in  the  end  of  his  eye,  the  patrol  wagons  and  fire 


IP 


LADY   MECHANTE 


companies  dashing  down  the  street,  and  a  detachment  of 
police  loading  the  bodies  upon  a  dray  at  the  corner,  cover 
ing  them  with  a  heterogeneous  mass  of  clothing.  An  eager 
crowd  was  collecting  stray  watches  and  purses  along  the 
pavement. 


12%  ] 


Chapter 


REDUCTIO    AD   ABSURDUM 

That   I  could  shoot  mine  eyes  at  him,  like  gun-stones! 

(Volpone  ;    or,  The  Fox.) 

'S  Roulhac  tottered  to  his  room  that  night,  he 
felt  that  the  last  act  of  a  sublime  farce  had 
been  played  out ;  what,  then,  was  to  follow  ? 
Little  gushes  of  regret,  remorse,  and  eve 
of  fear  broke  in  his  heart  and  a  premonition 
of  coming  evil  smote  htm.  Then,  with  a 
swift  intuition,  the  vision  of  the  thousand  outraged  men  that 
would  soon  be  on  his  trail  appalled  him  with  dread.  Even 
now,  at  the  station  houses,  no  doubt,  batches  of  members 
were  being  resuscitated,  and  the  physicians  were  busy  over 
the  more  obdurate  cases.  He  thought  with  a  pang  of 
Barowich  and  his  insensate  resistance,  his  collision  with  the 
policeman,  and  the  mad  hash  he  would  make  of  the  League 
with  the  Commissioners.  The  conspiracy  was  matter  for  a 
Vigilance  Committee;  the  machinery  of  the  law  must  soon 
be  at  work  to  punish  the  perpetrators  of  so  gross  an  indig 
nity.  Haunted  with  the  ghosts  of  such  terrors,  he  spent  a 
sleepless  night,  awaiting  the  dawn.  With  the  first  sign  of 
morning  he  would  seek  the  Countess,  and,  together,  the 
two  would  prepare  for  escape. 

Before  he  had   breakfasted,  however,  the  telephone  bell 
aroused  him,  and  he  took  down  the  instrument  to  hear  the 
voice  of  his  co-partner  welcoming  him  to  a  sort  of  courage. 
9  [  129  ] 


LADY   M EC H ANTE 


"  I  'm  coming  up  immediately,"  she  said.  "  I  fear  the 
worst.  We  must  take  counsel  and  organize  our  defense." 

He  was  dressed  by  the  time  she  came,  and  they  spent 
an  anxious  half-hour  together  on  the  pink  divan,  with  the 
plaster  ogrillon  sneering  above  them  over  its  cynical  motto  : 
"  I  Wonder  Why  ?  "  They  discussed  only  the  possible 
ways  of  escape ;  neither  had  the  courage  to  refer  to  the 
previous  evening's  atrocity.  Fly  they  must,  but  a  few  pre 
cautions  were  first  necessary.  There  were  incriminating 
papers  and  accounts  at  No.  7  Key  Court  to  be  destroyed, 
there  was  money  to  be  raised  ;  and,  finally,  their  destination 
was  to  be  decided. 

Absorbed  in  these  affairs,  they  were  startled  by  a  fero 
cious  knock  at  the  front  door  of  the  Peanut  Shell.  Roul- 
hac  crept  to  the  window  and  looked  out,  haggardly. 

It  was  the  A.  D.  T.  Kid.  The  Walking  Peanut  went 
into  the  narrow  hall  and  opened  the  door ;  the  messenger 
boy  was  admitted  and  then  locked  in.  He  was  steaming 
with  perspiration  and  out  of  breath. 

"  Howdy  !  "  he  said,  and  he  took  off"  his  cap  to  the  Count 
ess.  u  Say,"  he  continued,  "  de  graft 's  played  out !  Yer 
up  against  it  now,  sure,  an'  it'll  come  to  sour  eggs  if  yer 
don't  git  a  move  on  !  Yer  got  to  slope  or  else  run  fer 
mayor.  Dey  got  it  in  fer  de  Countess,  too  !  De  hull 
town  's  as  mad  as  a  dog  wid  a  tin  can  on  his  tail.  Dey 
won't  do  a  detailed  ting  to  yer  if  dey  catches  yer  !  " 

The  three  looked  at  each  other  in  dismay.  Then  Roul- 
hac  asked,  "  Tell  us  all  you  know,  and  what  they  are  doing 
down  there  !  " 

"  See  here.  It  was  dis  way.  I  seen  de  hull  show,  and 
Mudder,  it  was  a  peach.  It  beat  out  de  minstrels  !  I  seen 
youse  two  in  de  Lick  House,  an'  I  seen  dat  de  fly  cops  was 

['30] 


TDT 


REDUCriO    AD   ABSURDUM 


all  onto  yer.  Den  I  took  a  crawl  down  to  de  city  jail 
when  dey  ran  in  de  stiffs  and  I  got  a  hunch  dat  Barovitch 
was  goin'  to  make  a  ragged  old  rough-house  for  youse  hot'. 
Well,  he  come  in  spittin'  blood  and  lather  like  he  was  a 
glass  eater,  and  he  braced  up  to  de  sergeant  and  begun  to 
chew  de  rag  good.  Den  I  went  back  to  de  offis  cos  it  was 
my  night  on  deck.  Well,  I  was  give  a  deespatch  fer  de 
chief  of  perlice,  and  I  got  a  hunch  dat  it  was  goin'  to  get 
you  into  a  scrap,  so  I  pried  it  open.  It  said  1031  Vallejo 
Street  at  nine  termorrer,  an'  I  copped  de  hull  game.  So  I 
wrote  a  bum  wire  and  pushed  it  along,  tellin'  him  ten 
instead  of  nine.  Yer  ain't  got  four  minutes  ter  trow  away, 
or  youse  bot'  will  be  ridin'  home  in  de  hurry-up  waggin'  !  " 

"  By  jove  !  "  cried  Roulhac,  u  you  Ve  saved  us,  Infant !  " 
Then  he  turned  curiously  to  the  prodigy.  "  See  here, 
what 's  your  graft  ?  You  don't  look  like  you  lived  on  bal 
loon  juice.  There  ain't  a  half  a  biscuit  in  this  for  you,  I  'm 
afraid.  1  'm  broke.  Sorry,  kid,  but  if  you  expect  to  snatch 
any  long  green  you've  been  buncoed.  All  the  same,  I  'm 
much  obliged  !  " 

The  A.  D.  T.  Kid  squared  himself  against  the  wall. 
"Youse  give  me  de  Willies  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  ain't  in 
dis  fer  my  health,  cos  it  comes  to  bein'  trun  out  of  de  force, 
see!  But  all  de  same  I  ain't  no  bum.  I  never  t'ought 
youse  burned  government  bonds  in  dat  fireplace,  but  I  knew 
youse  was  straight  goods.  c  A  feller  dat  kin  sling  English 
like  dat  guy,'  I  says, '  he  's  all  right !  '  An'  de  Countess  she 
kin  put  her  close  in  my  trunk  an'  open  all  me  letters. 
Dat 's  straight.  Now  just  come  down  ter  brass  tacks. 
c  I  '11  flag  'em,'  I  says,  'an'  if  dey  don't  get  pinched  I  '11  go 
up  to  de  cathedral  and  give  Saint  Joseph  an  earache  of  de 
33rd  degree.'  I  don't  very  often  get  up  to  de  old  charac- 

[  '3'  1 


LADY  MECHANTE 


ter  foundry  on  Sundays,  but  if  de  Walkin'  Peanut  comes 
out  alive  I  '11  do  time  wid  de  holy  Willies.  As  fer  de 
Countess,  she's  a  t'oroughbred  greyhound,  and  she'll  side 
step  de  Chief  easy  widout  tryin'  !  " 

The  lady  in  question  tore  off  a  pair  of  rings  and  handed 
them  to  the  boy.  "  Here,  take  these,  bless  you,  my  son. 
They  '11  stand  you  the  car  fare  home,  anyway  !  " 

The  Kid  put  one  on  each  thumb  and  regarded  himself 
with  a  pert  gesture.  "  Say  !  "  he  said,  "  I  look  like  a  drug 
store  winder  on  a  dark  night !  Dem  's  swell  lamps,  all  right. 
But  youse  gotter  slope  pretty  pronto  !  We  can't  stand 
here  and  shoot  hot  air  all  day  !  De  cops  is  due  in  ten  min 
utes  an'  dey  '11  be  on  time  !  " 

The  trio  held  a  hasty  consultation.  Before  it  had  come 
to  any  definite  point,  the  messenger,  lolling  with  a  cigarette 
in  the  window,  cried  :  "  Hully  Arrarat  !  Here  dey  come 
now  !  " 

The  case  was,  indeed,  desperate,  for  a  group  of  men, 
headed  by  the  gesticulating  Barowich,  were  climbing  the 
wooden  stairs.  They  came  up  to  the  front  door  and 
pounded  without  consideration  for  the  quaking  nerves  of 
the  occupants. 

The  A.  D.  T.  Kid  put  his  head  out  of  the  window. 
"  Maybe  youse  tink  dis  is  a  bass  drum,"  he  remarked.  "  Go 
on  and  get  yer  uniform  on,  foirst,  an'  den  let  de  bug 
wriggle !  " 

"  Who  's  inside  there  ?  "  demanded  the  waiter. 

u  A  Maxim  son-of-a-gun  wid  a  pocket  full  of  six-inch 
rapid  firers  !  "  said  the  imp. 

"You  young  scoundrel,  open  that  door,  or  I'll  break  it 
down  !  "  cried  one  of  the  men,  whose  voice  was  recognized 
as  Colonel  McArthur's. 


REDUCTIO    AD    ABSURDUM 


"  Hand  out  yer  search-warrant !  "  said  the  youngster. 
"  But  don't  push  on  de  door,  or  else  you  might  be  liable  to 
fall  into  de  six-shooter." 

The  men,  evidently  without  the  legal  instrument  neces 
sary  to  formalize  a  forced  opening  of  the  Peanut  Shell,  drew 
aside  for  a  colloquy.  Meanwhile  Roulhac  and  the  Countess 
had  racked  their  wits  for  a  possible  means  of  escape.  The 
hint  came  first  to  the  Walking  Peanut,  and  he  ran  up  to  his 
young  ally. 

"  See  here,"  he  asked,  "  can  you  stand  'em  off  for  ten 
minutes  ?  Can  you  give  'em  the  Grand  Transcontinental 
Jolly  while  we  change  our  clothes  and  slide  out  the  back 
window  ?  " 

"Sure!"  said  the  boy,  scornfully.  "I'll  shoot  off  me 
mout'  till  furder  notice,  if  dat  goes.  Jolly  'em  !  "  he  re 
peated.  "  Why,  I  could  spiel  fer  Satan  outside  o'  de  bad 
place  till  de  saints  came  down  outer  Heaven  wid  their 
haloes  ter  stand  in  line  at  de  box  office  !  I  '11  give  'em  de 
Grand  Wot's-Dis-and-all !  Why,  I  belong  in  de  Orpheum, 
only  I  'm  too  good  fer  vodeville  stunts  !  Just  watch  me  !  " 

He  went  up  to  the  second  story  and  opened  the  window 
without  fear.  The  crowd  had  gathered  since  his  previous 
burst  of  eloquence,  and  it  now  consisted  of  fifty  or  more 
men  and  children.  Some  dozen  of  these  were  the  tatter 
demalion  refugees  of  the  Hypnotic  Club,  attired  in  incon 
gruous  garb,  seized  haphazard  from  the  mass  of  clothing 
abandoned  the  night  before  on  Montgomery  Street.  Here 
was  a  citizen  in  frock-coat  attempting  to  cover  a  pair  of 
blue  jean  overalls,  there  a  Chinaman  in  tweed  cutaway  and 
silk  hat,  or  an  Italian  organ  grinder  in  knickerbockers. 
Barowich  was  clad  in  his  own  proper  raiment,  but  his  evi 
dent  insanity  made  him  an  equal  butt  of  ridicule  with  the 

[  133] 


^ 


LADT  MECHANTE 


others.  The  sight  of  this  increasing  audience  was  like  a 
Martini  cocktail  to  the  spirits  of  the  A.  D.  T.  Kid,  and 
there  descended  upon  him  the  gift  of  tongues. 

"  Say,  dis  here  looks  like  de  layin'  de  corner-stone  of  a 
Fourt'  Street  saloon  by  de  Ancient  Order  of  Hibernians  ! 
Youse  guys  in  de  rear  ranks  wants  ter  move  up,  or  youse 
won't  hear  de  speech!  If  youse  lookin'  fer  de  Walkin' 
Peanut  an'  his  steady,  dey  's  in  behind  de  door  wid  six- 
shooters,  and  de  guy  what  tries  to  do  any  barn-stormin' 
had  better  step  right  up  and  get  it  in  de  epiglottis.  If  youse 
got  a  warrant  fer  to  break  into  dis  shack,  youse  can  shove 
it  t'rough  de  keyhole  and  we  '11  O.  K.  it  and  file  it  wid  de 
assets  of  de  Company.  If  not,  youse  better  get  outer  de 
range  of  de  artillery.  Youse  cheap  sports  wot  played  in  de 
Christmas  pantomime  at  de  Lick  House  last  night  can  step 
up,  an'  if  dey  's  any  kick  comin'  we  settle  all  claims  on 
Saturdays  and  yer  two  days  ahead  o'  yerself.  Youse  oughter 
go  down  Sout'  o'  Market  Street  and  git  a  job  to  be  wooden 
Injun  fer  de  cigar  stands.  As  fer  dat  bale  o'  dope  down 
dere  wot  woiks  de  plates  at  Campi's  bun  shop,  he  can  spit 
out  his  teeth  in  de  front  yard  w'ere  de  las'  guy  wot  come 
lookin'  fer  a  scrap  left  his  face.  Now  we  got  no  time  to 
give  a  poke-out  to  all  dese  hobos  an'  Weary  Willies,  an' 
de  push  had  better  get  legs  to  demselves  before  de  fight  's 
pulled  off.  If  youse  try  ter  pull  up  de  landscape  and  trun 
it  at  de  windows,  somethin's  going  to  happen  !  I  '11  order 
out  de  Boxers  in  de  cellar  as  soon  as  de  foirst  man  breathes. 
De  price  of  admission  to  dis  show  is  a  bump  in  de  back  of 
de  neck,  an'  I  'm  spielin'  fer  de  undertaker,  sure.  We 
did  n't  expect  to  run  no  cheap  Morgue,  but  dey  's  room 
inside  fer  any  bloke  what  wants  ter  be  struck  by  lightnin', 
see  ?  " 


O 


REDUCriO    AD   ABSURDUM 


While  this  impassioned  flight  of  oratory  cozened  the 
mob  outside,  the  two  refugees  within  had  not  been  idle. 
Casting  rapidly  about  for  a  disguise,  the  Countess  fell  upon 
the  silent  form  of  Miss  Gladys  Harmony,  and,  in  a  trice, 
the  manikin  was  stripped  and  her  clothing  transferred  to 
a  living  form.  The  costume,  as  has  been  said,  was  incon 
gruous,  and  the  Countess  winced  as  she  slid  on  a  jacket 
with  the  huge  sleeves  of  the  year  1894.  The  skirt,  too, 
was  of  an  ancient  cut,  and  the  combination  dowdy  to  the 
point  of  absurdity.  On  they  went,  however,  garment  after 
garment,  until  the  lady  stood,  a  spectacle  of  mirth  to  her 
self,  as  she  must  soon  be  to  the  community. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  daring  a  glance  at  the  mirror,  u  it 's 
only  the  worst  step  that  costs  !  "  Then,  with  a  pang,  she 
dressed  the  lay  figure  in  her  own  discarded  gown  and  but 
toned  on  the  blue  waist  with  its  gold  braid  and  buttons,  the 
navy  belt  buckled  over  all. 

Roulhac  had  also  been  at  work,  and  in  a  minute  or  two 
he  appeared  in  golf  suit  and  tennis  cap.  He  looked  at  the 
Countess  with  a  sickly  grin.  "  Ready  for  the  fancy  dress 
ball?"  he  asked. 

"  Tell  me  first,"  she  implored,  "  who  I  am  !  What  is  my 
name  ?  Before,  I  was  pure  Countess  Rouge  all  over.  I 
must  know  the  name  for  this  costume.  Quick  !  Hurry  ! 
A  moment's  delay  may  ruin  us  !  " 

"That  red  waist,"  said  Roulhac,  with  an  effort  of  mem 
ory,  u  belonged  to  a  Miss  Myot." 

"  Her  first  name  !      Quick  !  " 

"  Her  name  was  Valeria,"  confessed  the  young  man. 

"  Now  the  skirt !  Don't  you  understand,  gander  ?  I 
must  know  my  name !  " 

"  The  skirt  —  oh,  it  was  Celestine's  !  " 

[  '35] 


LADY   MECHANTE 


The  Countess  lost  her  patience.  "  Dunce,  fool,  ninny, 
dolt,  blockhead,  numskull,  moon-calf,  noodle,  nincompoop, 
jackass,  donkey,  gaby,  zany,  ASS!"  she  cried.  "What 
was  her  last  name  ?  Don't  you  know  I  take  my  family 
name  from  my  skirt  ? "  she  wept.  Excitement  had  un 
nerved  her. 

"  Oh,  pardon  me.  Jewburg,"  he  said,  "  Celestine 
Jewburg." 

The  smile  came  back  to  her  lips  as  the  sunshine  pierces 
a  cloud.  "  I  am  Valeria  Jewburg,  then,  God  help  me ! 
But  I  must  have  a  title  !  "  she  insisted,  insatiate.  "  Am  I 
maid,  wife,  or  widow,  miss  or  mistress,  lady,  princess,  or 
what  ?  It 's  the  hat"  she  explained  madly,  holding  in  her 
impatience.  "I  must  have  something  on  my  head,  even  if 
I  am  to  be  called  Auntie  !  " 

Roulhac  dodged  to  and  fro  amongst  his  properties  in  de 
spair,  then  he  ran  upstairs  to  his  chamber  closet.  As  he 
entered  the  front  room,  a  rock  smashed  through  the  window, 
and  broken  glass  spattered  him. 

"  Dey  's  begun  to  take  a  little  whirl  in  real  estate,"  re 
marked  the  A.  D.  T.  Kid.  "  Youse  better  hustle  !  " 

Down  the  stairs  again,  four  at  a  time,  jumped  the  Walk 
ing  Peanut,  in  his  hands  the  blue  bonnet  of  a  Salvation 
Army  lassie.  "  It  was  Major  Bessie  Looyer's,"  he  gasped. 
A  shock  at  the  front  door  warned  them  that  peril  was 
imminent. 

u  We  must  make  our  get-away  quick,"  he  added.  "  We  '11 
have  to  go  the  back  way." 

Somewhat  sheltered  from  Florence  Street  by  a  high  fence 
was  a  window  in  the  ell  of  a  vacant  house  next  door,  and, 
spanning  with  a  shutter  the  little  gulf  between,  the  runaways 
crept  into  the  damp  and  mouldy  sanctuary  of  Number  35. 


REDUCTIO    AD    ABSURDUM 


At  the  Peanut  Shell  the  battle  royal  still  went  on,  and  the 
A.  D.  T.  Kid  poured  virile  trope  and  metaphor  and  graphic 
synonyms  upon  the  heads  of  the  encircling  horde.  Baro- 
wich,  fearful  of  using  force  until  vindicated  by  the  presence 
of  the  police,  so  unaccountably  detained,  vented  his  wrath 
in  spasmodic  blasphemy.  Rappp  and  McArthur  stood  guard 
at  the  door,  ready  at  the  word  to  break  it  down,  and  Pro 
fessor  Dolittle,  in  a  foolish  masquerade  of  misshappen 
clothiery,  pounded  incessantly  at  the  side  of  the  house  with  a 
picket  torn  from  the  fence.  But  the  sarcastic  farrago  of 
the  messenger  in  the  window  kept  the  crowd  together  in  a 
lump,  spellbound  at  his  volubility.  When  that  cascade  of 
verbiage  ceased,  it  was  evident  that  the  house  would  fall. 
The  A.  D.  T.  Kid,  with  a  sublime  faith  in  his  cause, 
lighted  another  cigarette  and  burnt  it  as  incense  upon  the 
altar  of  the  Muse  of  Slang. 

"See  here,"  he  enjoined  the  multitude.  "I'm  over 
whelmed  by  dis  entoosiastic  reception  !  But  I  ain't  quite 
up  to  such  a  swell  push,  an'  I'm  afraid  Chinamen  wid 
Willieboy  coats  ain't  in  my  class.  I  feel  like  a  wart  on  de 
nose  of  a  real  t'oroughbred  Razmataz  Lulu.  I  'm  conspic 
uous,  but  I  spoil  de  looks  of  de  cake.  But  de  truble  is,  we 
ain't  got  more  'n  enough  blushes  in  de  coop  for  breakfast, 
an'  so  yer  gotter  put  up  wid  dis  apology.  God  created  me 
in  an  absent-minded  moment,  jus'  before  de  w'istle  blew  for 
to  quit  woirk.  It  was  t'ree  minutes  to  six  an'  he  had  a 
little  speck  o'  mud  left  over.  c  Gosh  ! '  he  says, l  on'y  a  tea- 
spoonful  o'  brains  left  in  de  bin,  wot  am  I  a-goin'  to  do  ?  ' 
Dat's  w'y  I  ain't  put  up  to  address  such  a  gang  o'  high 
brows  as  I  see  before  me,  but  if  de  A.  D.  T.  Kid  is  good 
enough  fer  youse,  he 's  good  enough  fer  me.  Now,  de 
Walkin'  Peanut  here,  and  his  lady  frien'  is  willin'  ter  arbi- 

[  137] 


LADY   M EC H ANTE 


trate  dis  strike  as  soon  as  de  walkin'  delegate  screws  his  nut 
and  de  sheriffs  make  good  wid  de  warrant.  But  if  youse 
tries  to  push  a  hole  t'rough  de  house  wid  a  log,  dere  '11  be  a 
hot  time  in  de  ol'  boi'g  dis  forenoon,  an'  we  '11  give  yer  all 
de  contrac'  calls  fer  w'ere  de  hair  is  short.  Now,  youse 
swell  guys  wot  's  got  a  kick  comin'  fer  me  frien'  Svengali, 
brace  up,  an'  we  '11  make  yer  t'ink  yer  oughter  live  on  de 
dark  side  o'  de  moon,  and  de  Perfessor  dere  wid  de  stick 
what 's  trvin'  to  raise  black  an'  blue  spots  on  de  side  of  dis 
door,  I  give  him  notice  to  quit  before  he  gets  pulled  up 
by  de  roots  an'  trun  inter  de  ash  barrel.  Now,  I  don't 
wanter  give  de  Angel  Gabriel  any  chanct  ter  chalk  down  a 
1  damn  '  against  my  name  in  de  Judgment  Book,  fer  dere  's 
a  lady  present,  an'  bein'  as  I  got  a  toad  in  me  gullet  from 
spoutin'  so  much  po'try  to  dis  here  Browning  Club,  I  '11  in- 
terdooce  de  nex'  speaker." 

He  left  the  window  for  a  moment  and  soon  reappeared 
with  the  stiff"  form  of  Miss  Harmony,  now  clad  in  the 
Countess's  garments  and  hat.  Her  ruddy  hair  was  a  good 
counterfeit  of  the  auburn  locks  of  the  lady  who  was  at  that 
moment  crawling  through  the  kitchen  window,  but  her  calm 
and  placid  expression  should  have  betrayed  the  cheat.  The 
dummy,  however,  was  instantly  hailed  as  the  deposed  Queen 
of  the  Hypnotic  Club,  and  her  appearance  was  greeted  with 
a  yell  from  the  furious  members  of  the  League  ;  all  except 
Ruby,  who  shrunk  into  a  voluminous  waistcoat.  Water 
enough  will  put  out  a  fire;  a  little  will  but  make  it  burn 
brighter.  The  apparition  of  the  imitation  Countess  inflamed 
a  revolution.  With  a  yell,  Barowich  vaulted  the  fence  and 
sprang  to  the  side  of  the  house  on  Florence  Street.  He 
was  followed  by  a  score  of  members,  with  whom  he  had 
just  held  whispered  consultation. 

['381 


V 


LADY   MECHANTE 


The  cottage  stood,  top-heavy  and  leaning  sadly  out  of 
the  perpendicular,  on  rotting  foundations.  It  was  old  and 
insecure,  a  decayed  shell.  The  volunteers,  seeing  its  state, 
put  their  shoulders  manfully  to  the  side  of  the  house,  and, 
heaving  with  all  their  might,  rocked  the  Peanut  Shell  to  and 
fro.  The  fringe  of  spectators,  amongst  whom  were  the 
permanent  foes  of  the  A.  D.  T.  Kid  and  the  scurrilous  tor 
mentors  of  the  Walking  Peanut,  reinforced  the  agonists  at 
the  wall  of  the  cottage.  With  their  mighty  struggle  the 
frame  leaned,  hung  in  unstable  equilibrium  and  fell  with  a 
crash  into  the  vacant  lot  at  the  side.  Professor  Dolittle 
swarmed  over  the  top  of  the  wreck  and  struck  a  heroic 
gesture. 

Roulhac  had,  meanwhile,  made  all  haste,  and,  with  the 
spirited  monologue  of  his  gallant  rear-guard  ringing  in  his 
ears,  he  had  towed  his  partner  through  the  aperture  in  Num 
ber  35,  past  several  bare  rooms,  and  had  opened  the  front 
door.  This  he  reached  at  the  psychological  moment,  and 
the  two  stepped  into  the  little  narrow  lane  of  Florence  Street 
just  as  the  Peanut  Shell  collapsed.  In  the  confusion  of  that 
exciting  moment,  the  Walking  Peanut  and  Major  Valeria 
Jewburg,  S.  A.,  hurried  down  the  street  in  the  direction 
of  Broadway. 

A  half-block  south  of  the  Peanut  Shell,  Florence  Street 
ends  point-blank  in  a  small  precipice,  the  drop  into  Broad 
way  being  some  twenty  feet  high.  Down  this  declivity 
runs  a  wooden  ditch  or  flume  box  set  to  carry  off  the 
water  into  the  street  below,  and  this  the  two  descended, 
not  without  damage  to  their  clothing.  They  tumbled  fi 
nally  upon  the  sidewalk  with  no  bones  broken,  and  made 
down  Broadway  with  all  the  haste  that  the  concrete  pave- 


OP  P 


/ 


og 


Av 


REDUCTIO    AD   ABSURDUM 


ment  of  this,  the  steepest  block  in  San  Francisco,  permitted. 
From  there  they  plunged  into  the  Latin  Quarter,  and,  at 
last  discovering  a  tramp  hack,  jumped  in  and  were  driven 
with  fury  to  Key  Court. 

This  was  like  entering  the  lions'  den,  but  the  risk  must 
be  taken.  It  was  likely  that  any  members  free  at  that  time 
of  day  would  be  present  at  the  storming  of  Russian  Hill; 
they  had  to  fear,  at  any  rate,  only  the  more  strenuous  lieu 
tenants  betrayed  by  last  night's  orgy.  The  club-house  was 
deserted,  as  it  proved,  and  ten  minutes  at  No.  7  sufficed  to 
destroy  all  trace  of  their  conspiracy  and  to  make  sure  of 
the  realizable  assets  of  the  League.  Here,  too,  the  Countess 
found  an  appropriate  though  modest  gown  in  the  house 
keeper's  room,  and,  clad  in  this,  she  dared  adventure  the 
town.  Roulhac,  too,  was  in  a  similar  manner  rehabilitated, 
and,  this  work  finished,  the  twain  made  ready  for  their  final 
flight,  hoping  to  cross  the  Bay  to  Oakland  before  notice 
was  sent  to  head  them  off"  at  the  Ferry. 

They  had  just  emerged  from  the  Court  into  Geary  Street, 
where  their  carriage  was  waiting,  when,  running  down 
towards  them,  more  a  maniac  than  ever,  Barowich  hurtled, 
hatless,  dusty,  but  alone.  With  a  fierce  cry  he  ran  up  to 
the  elopers  and  laid  a  heavy  hand  upon  Roulhac. 

"  By  heavens,  I  've  got  you  now  !  "  he  screamed,  and 
then  he  yelled  over  his  shoulder  for  the  police. 

It  seemed  all  up  with  the  unhappy  pair,  when  the 
Countess,  with  the  calmness  of  despair,  said  freezingly  to 
their  captor,  "  Barowich,  you  're  an  ass  !  " 

At  the  words  a  sudden  miracle  was  wrought.  Barowich, 
before  so  defiant  and  so  impregnable  to  the  hypnotic  influ 
ence  of  the  Controller-in-Chief  of  the  League,  who  had 
boasted  of  his  independence  of  all  hypnotic  suggestion, 


^^^^^^^^^^^ 
LADY  MECHANTE 


succumbed  instantly  to  the  gaze  of  the  infuriated  scornful 
lady  he  had  attempted  to  detain.  Roulhac  remembered, 
now,  her  confession  of  having  had  Barowich  under  her  con 
trol  before  she  had  chosen  a  newer  and  cleverer  accomplice 
in  the  great  conspiracy.  Like  a  fakir's  magic  tree  the 
suggestion  in  the  spoken  words  took  root  and  grew.  The 
waiter  collapsed  ;  he  fell  upon  all  fours,  and,  stiffening  his 
legs  and  arms,  protruding  his  head  and  neck,  there  on 
Geary  Street  he  brayed  aloud,  a  very  ass,  as  the  Countess 
had  so  carelessly  proclaimed. 

They  were  not  slow  in  taking  advantage  of  this  opportune 
rescue  from  their  oppressor.  Jumping  into  the  hack,  they 
drove  post-haste  to  the  Ferry.  They  were  saved. 

"  Wait  here,"  the  Countess  ordered,  "  while  I  buy  the 
tickets."  She  was  standing  in  the  great  arcade  of  the  depot, 
and  she  came  up  to  him  and  took  his  hands.  "  Look  at 
me!"  she  said.  "We've  had  a  good  time  together, 
haven't  we?  We've  turned  the  town  upside  down,  as  I 
promised,  have  n't  we  ?  I  have  made  life  interesting  for  you, 
and  you  do  love  me  just  a  little,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course,  but  we  must  hurry  !  "  said  Roul 
hac,  looking  about  nervously.  "  This  is  no  time  for  a 
lover's  dialogue  !  " 

The  Countess  Rouge  came  a  bit  nearer.  "  Look  in  my 
eyes,"  she  said.  Then,  as  he  gazed  at  her,  he  saw  a  differ 
ent  expression  than  usual  upon  her  face. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  cried.  "What  is  the  matter  ?  Why 
do  you  look  at  me  so,  Countess  ?  " 

"  Kiss  me  !  "  she  said  in  a  deliberate  voice  that  rang  with 
a  strange  cadence.  He  stooped  and  kissed  her  on  the 

lips. 

#***  **** 

[  '42] 


REDUCTIO    AD    ABSURDUM 


The  next  thing  Roulhac  knew,  he  found  himself  sitting 
on  the  bulkhead  of  a  wharf  on  East  Street,  his  legs  dangling 
over  the  water.  Beside  him  huge  ships  and  barques  pushed 
their  bowsprits  into  the  street,  a  maze  of  masts  and  spars 
towered  over  his  head,  and  all  around  sat  loafers  like 
himself,  idly  watching  the  stevedores  loading  or  unloading 
the  vessels  docked  alongside.  The  Oakland  ferryboat  was 
pushing  her  huge  ungainly  bulk  across  the  fairway  towards 
Goat  Island.  Where  was  the  Countess  ?  He  did  not 
know. 

Then  a  spark  of  suspicion  traveled  through  his  brain, 
lighting  here  and  there  the  tinder  of  his  memory.  Was  it 
all  a  dream  ?  Was  the  escape  but  a  hallucination  ?  Had 
there  been  no  storming  of  the  Peanut  Shell — would  it  be 
safe  to  return  ?  Then,  with  a  rush,  his  doubts  closed  in  on 
him.  The  Thousand  Men  in  Night-shirts  —  was  that,  too, 
a  vision  ?  It  was  too  improbable  to  credit.  But  then,  the 
winter's  preparation,  the  whole  history  of  the  conspiracy  — 
what,  then,  was  true?  His  mind  had  nothing  real  left  to 
catch  hold  on.  He  thought  of  his  first  mad  call  on  the 
Countess,  in  her  Hyde  Street  apartment,  when  she  threw 
the  chair  into  the  mirror.  Who  could  believe  such  a  whim 
as  that  ?  And,  finally,  retracing  his  steps,  he  came  back 
to  Campi's,  where  he  had  first  seen  her,  where  she  had 
given  him  that  mysterious  smile  !  Was  even  that  true,  or 
did  his  mania  date  from  that  moment  ? 

There  was  no  doubt,  however,  that  the  Countess  had 
hypnotized  him,  somewhere,  somehow  —  at  Campi's  —  on 
Hyde  Street  -  —  in  his  rooms  —  or  at  the  Ferry?  When? 
By  what  means  was  he  to  disentangle  truth  from  error 
in  the  mad  history  of  the  winter?  Perhaps  it  was  not  even 
yet  winter.  One  could  never  tell  in  California. 

[  H3] 


o 

o 

"O 

> 


LADY  MECHANTE 


Perhaps,  indeed,  and  his  courage  went  down,  now,  totally 
extinguished  before  the  sudden  whirling  of  his  fears  —  per 
haps  there  was  not,  and  never  had  been,  any  such  person 
as  the  Countess  Rouge  ! 

He  did  not  know. 


[H4] 


THE    CULT    OF    MARS 


By  Phoebus^  my  sweet  facetious  rascal^  I  could 
eat  water-gruel  with  thee  a  month  for  this  jest,  my 
dear  rogue  I 

(Cynthia's  Revels.) 


Chapter 

A   SYMPHONY  REHEARSAL 

Here's  notable  order  !  now  for  a  trick  to  tame  ye  ! 

(The  Knight  of  Malta.) 

'OSTON'S  haut  ton,  cloaked  and  bonneted 
with  propriety,  was  assembled  in  the  old 
Music  Hall.  Culture  was  out  in  its  war 
paint,  improving  the  occasion  to  the  death. 
The  cream  of  the  city,  assiduously  skimmed 
by  a  myriad  intellectual  processes,  branded 
"elect"  and  warranted  chemically  pure,  sterilized  from  the 
last  .germ  of  vulgarity,  flooded  the  floor.  Outwardly  the 
scene  was  not  gay,  for  the  woman  of  the  Hub  is  a  somber 
ungainly  bird  at  times,  but  if  the  tops  of  the  heads  of 
the  audience  had  been  opened,  the  brilliance  would  have 
flooded  three  rows  of  balconies. 

Sets  within  sets,  circles  within  circles,  the  social  machine 
whirred  and  clicked  about  a  dozen  important  pivots  like  an 
accurate  chronometer,  setting  the  absolutely  correct  time 
for  the  outer  world.  The  escapement  was  nicely  regu 
lated  to  the  prevailing  pitch  of  precise  and  positive  appre 
ciation.  The  minute  hand  of  Boston's  aesthetic  dial  pointed 
'to  the  exact  degree  of  musical  ability  the  Symphony 
Orchestra  had  attained.  Like  a  conscientious  alarm-clock 
the  applause  wxas  timed  and  went  off  with  a  flapping  of 
gloved  hands  at  the  psychological  moments.  There  was 

['47] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


no  fervor,  no  excitement  or  feverish  approval,  except  the 
minor  spasms  of  the  upper  galleries,  where  Temperament 
and  Emotion  sat,  crowded  to  the  stairs. 

The  Orchestra  was  on  trial,  the  new  leader  pleading 
not  guilty  at  the  bar.  The  programme,  couched  in  occult 
terms,  analytical,  technical,  abstruse,  guided  the  few  bar 
barians,  but  the  description  and  history  of  the  Opus  was 
disregarded  by  the  members  of  the  assembly,  who  boasted 
an  unbroken  line  of  attendance  at  these  celebrated  Re 
hearsals.  The  chosen  representatives  of  Boston's  imme 
morial  precedence  in  the  arts  sat  with  averted  eyes,  or 
spoke  in  low  polysyllabic  tones  of  the  individual  merits  of 
members  of  the  Orchestra,  whom  they  knew,  each  hairy 
head,  by  name. 

The  violin  bows  rose  and  fell  in  unison,  each  handled 
by  a  master.  The  serried  performers  on  the  brass  pumped 
rhythmically,  accompanying  the  birdlike  pleasantry  of  the 
wind  instruments.  Vibrant  color  schemes  blossomed  and 
died  into  sonorous  silences,  waved  up  in  forte  and  prestissimo 
to  expire  again  in  the  titillating  agony  of  the  wood.  The 
leader  waved  his  baton,  now  suavely,  now  with  emphatic 
urgency,  as  if  to  affright  from  his  score  invisible  flies 
swarming  like  semi-quavers  upon  the  staves. 

There  were  women,  women  everywhere.  Women  to 
burn,  women  to  throw  at  the  birds,  women  to  sweep  up 
and  empty  out  of  window.  Those  upon  the  floor  and  in 
the  first  balcony  were  all  known  and  named  ;  each  had  her 
station  set  and  signed,  —  Back  Bay,  West  End,  Brookline, 
or  Cambridge,  —  and  each  was  identified  by  club,  cult,  or 
charity,  each  a  thinker,  a  reader,  and  a  goer-to-lectures, 
proficient  in  the  rant,  cant,  slang,  and  patter  of  her  tribe. 

In  the  center  of  the  hall,  where  her  seat  had  been  held  in 
[148] 


A    SYMPHONY   REHEARSAL 


almost  feudal  tenure  for  years  —  and  a  year  is  long  in 
Boston  —  sat  Mrs.  Braxton-Burlap.  Not  a  soul  in  the 
audience  but  knew,  by  sight  or  by  fable,  this  uncrowned 
Queen  of  Boston,  and  her  bonnet  was  the  first  thing 
pointed  out  to  the  rural  visitor  at  the  Rehearsal.  But  who 
was  the  lady  directly  in  front  of  her?  Nobody  knew,  and 
the  mystery  of  her  presence  bathed  her  exclusive  abutters  in 
a  mist  of  gossip.  Was  she  from  Roxbury,  Chicago,  or 
beyond  ?  A  parvenue,  newly  promoted  from  the  South 
End  ?  Some  country  cousin  usurping  the  high  place  of 
Fashion  ?  Little  glances  flew  to  her,  circled  round  her 
head,  sniffed,  pecked,  and  fluttered  back  to  their  nests  in 
female  eyes. 

The  stranger  was  an  airy  figure,  fluttering  with  femininity, 
faultless  in  form,  in  commendable  millinery  of  foreign 
make,  and  of  a  surety  of  presence  that  invited  remark. 
Her  head  was  entrancingly  set  upon  her  shoulders  and 
heavy  with  dull  red  hair.  Her  eyes  were  blue,  her  gown 
was  blue,  her  blood  also,  no  doubt  of  that.  Her  violets 
perfumed  the  air  far  up  and  down  the  center  aisle  where 
she  had  entered. 

The  horns  had  mounted  in  a  harrowing  crescendo  ending 
in  a  fatal  crash  of  all  the  drums  and  brasses;  and,  in  the 
rapt  stillness  following  the  cataclysm,  a  little  wood-pipe  was 
twittering,  when  the  History  of  Boston  turned  over  a  new 
leaf.  The  beautiful  unknown  rose  in  her  seat,  stretched 
her  arms  aloft,  tottered  in  the  aisle,  ejaculated  a  phrase 
of  unintelligible  jargon,  and  fainted  away. 

Frozen  in  shocked  horror,  female  Boston  sat  aghast  at 
the  scandal.  Two  pale  striplings  plunged  unwillingly  from 
their  seats,  their  long  lank  locks  awry,  and  gave  succor  to 
the  unfortunate  lady,  drew  her  feet  foremost  to  the  door 

[  H9] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


and  out  into  the  corridor.  The  audience,  faithful  to  its 
traditions,  did  not  turn  its  head,  deprecating  the  outrage  to 
musical  sensibility,  though  the  rustic  occupants  of  the  seats 
just  below  the  ceiling  pierced  the  distance  with  strenuous 
eyes.  In  four  minutes  the  disturbance  was  over  and  the 
insulted  community  reassumed  its  dignity.  In  the  con 
vulsive  interim,  however,  some  of  the  more  impressionable 
had,  to  regain  their  composure,  committed  the  heartrending 
solecism  of  reading  their  programmes. 

What  had  happened  ?  No  one  realized  the  full  tenor  of 
the  event,  but  it  was  as  if  Boston  had  seen  a  ghost.  Who 
was  it  who  had  sat  in  her  unwarrantable  seat  cocking  a 
flighty,  jimpriculate  blue  hat  at  Boston's  purest  and  best  ? 
Whoever  it  was,  she  had  become  a  celebrity,  for  she  had 
made  Boston  marvel. 

Such  was  Miss  Mischief's  entry  into  the  intellectual  cap 
ital  of  the  new  world.  She  was  come  to  take  Boston  by 
storm,  and  already  she  had  carried  the  outer  barrier  of  the 
barbican.  Bastion,  scarp  and  ramp,  tower,  dungeon,  draw 
bridge  and  keep  would  yet  be  hers.  She  had  sworn  it  by  the 
polished  pale  pink  nail  of  her  littlest  left-hand  finger,  and  by 
not  so  much  as  the  filing  her  manicure  would  sacrifice  in  a 
scant  half-second  would  she  abate  her  promise.  She  was 
here  to  pull  up  culture  by  the  roots  and  replant  it  nearer  to 
her  heart's  desire.  Naughty  nonpareille  !  She  was  again  at 
her  pyrotechnics,  for  it  was  indeed  my  Lady  Mechante, 
now  to  be  new  named  and  famed  in  Massachusetts. 

She  unhanded  herself  in  the  corridor  from  her  lacka 
daisical  rescuers  and  tossed  a  kiss  through  the  small  round 
windows  of  the  swinging  doors.  Then  she  skipped  down 
stairs  towards  Bromfield  Street  and  jauntily  collided  with  — 

Who  but  Guy  Bounder  ;   and  he  in  a  plaid  waistcoat  ! 

[-5°] 


A    STMPHONT   REHEARSAL 


u  Florry,  by  the  Lord  George  Hell !  "  cried  the  Lon 
doner,  all  trace  of  the  Cockney  gone,  rehabilitated,  glowing 
with  success,  consummate  in  style,  a  monocle  agog  in  his 
left  eye,  and  a  grin  of  astonishing  proportion.  Miss  Mis 
chief  slid  into  his  arms,  biting  his  sleeve  to  coerce  her 
laughter.  The  two  quivered  with  the  astonishment  of 
the  recognition. 

A  policeman  eyed  them  strictly,  and  they  fell  apart  to 
tripple  down  the  stairs  into  the  court  by  the  flower-sellers. 
From  the  inside  of  the  building  a  wave  of  harmony  thrilled  ; 
the  end  of  the  Symphony  was  dangerously  near.  Already 
a  spattering  of  spasmodic  suburbanites  had  fallen  out  and 
were  bustling  for  the  electric  cars  and  the  Subway. 

Seeing  this,  the  lady  drew  Mr.  Bounder  aside  and,  taking 
his  arm,  floated  him  to  the  Common,  aiming  her  course  for 
the  Long  Walk  that  springs  up  Beacon  Hill  from  the 
Tremont  Street  Mall. 

"  Guy  here  !  "  she  said  to  herself,  thinking  sharply,  "  Mer 
cury  help  me,  for  I  have  no  lie  ready  in  my  bodice  !  I  must 
use  him,  though,  for  he  is  ready  at  my  hand,  and  the  old 
glamour  sticks  by  him."  Yet  the  memory  of  his  last  prank 
came  to  her  in  all  its  hideous  indecency  and  upset  her  with 
mirth.  She  saw  him  in  London  raving  through  Sussex 
Square,  naked  to  the  waist,  with  a  shredded  corset,  and  a 
green  hat  off  one  ear,  in  a  woman's  skirt,  fleeing  into  Bays- 
water,  a  flibbergibbet  pariah,  undone  by  her  own  neglect ! 
And  now  he  was  dressed  for  a  wedding  at  high  noon,  the 
pinnacle  and  cap  of  fashion  with  an  American  set-scene  ! 
It  was  too  much. 

She  led  him  to  a  bench  under  a  maple  bearing  a  Latin 
inscription  and  sat  him  down.  Then,  with  characteristic 
shrewdness,  she  delivered  her  question  before  he  could 

['5'] 


LADY   MECHANTE 


interrogate  her  first.  "  What,  in  the  name  of  the  Green 
Brougham,  does  it  mean,  your  being  here  ?  "  she  said. 

Guy  had  lolled  along  with  her  without  sharing  the  excite 
ment.  Events,  it  seemed,  had  steadied  him.  He  was 
reinstated,  and  resumed  the  caste  of  the  Unastonishable 
Briton.  "  Florry,"  he  said,  and  he  laid  a  lavender  glove 
upon  her  muff,  "  if  I  have  ever  reproved  you,  I  apologize 
now.  Twice  you  have  made  my  fortune,  and  I  have  no 
ill  feelings." 

"  Nor  should  you,"  she  added,  "  for  I  am  about  to  make 
it  again  !  " 

"I  believe  you,"  he  replied.  "Ask  me  to  jump  over 
that  steeple  at  Brimstone  Corner,  and  I  would  turn  into  a 
flea  to  accomplish  it  !  " 

"  But  do  go  on,"  Miss  Mischief  insisted.  u  I  must  con 
fess  you  arouse  my  curiosity.  When  I  last  saw  you,  Guy, 
you  —  er  —  were  slightly  embarrassed,  you  know.  Tell 
me  whatever  happened  next."  And  she  bit  the  end  of  one 
finger  of  her  glove  in  repressing  a  smile. 

"  I  '11  tell  you,  in  two  words,"  he  said,  and  he  gazed  at 
her  fondly  as  he  spoke.  "  See  here.  You  rather  bilked 
me  in  our  partnership,  you  know.  No,  I  don't  complain. 
That 's  all  right,  as  it  turned  out.  But  you  bilked  me.  We 
were  in  the  game  together  as  straight  pals,  the  Mechante 
Burglary  Company,  Limited.  My  word,  I  did  n't  know 
how  limited  it  was  till  I  caught  you  making  love  to  Morti 
mer  Stencill.  But  I  kept  up  my  end  of  the  game,  and  did 
my  turns  in  the  green  brougham,  dressed  in  your  clothes, 
according  to  our  agreement.  Well,  that  last  night  Colonel 
Wetmore  caught  me,  and  let  me  have  it  good  with  the  fire- 
irons  and  the  butt  end  of  a  brass  candlestick,  gouty  old 
fiend  !  " 


A    SYMPHONY   REHEARSAL 


"  I  warned  you,"  interrupted  the  lady,  "  I  told  you  he  'd 
try  to  kiss  me  !  " 

"  Well,  he  did,  and  I  thought  I  could  work  him  better 
for  it,  but  he  snatched  my  masque,  and  the  fat  was  in  the 
fire.  I  '11  pass  over  my  exit,  and  the  little  promenade  up 
Stanhope  Street.  What  happened  in  the  Square,  I  don't 
blame  you  for,  but  I  '11  squeeze  that  coachman  of  yours 
when  I  catch  him  !  Well,  I  was  pulled  by  two  bobbies 
in  no  time,  and  locked  up.  I  turned  Queen's  evidence, 
Florry,  you  don't  mind, .do  you?  And  I  put  'em  after 
you  and  the  house  at  31  Fitzroy  Street.  I  did  that, 
but  I  was  desperate,  and  they  gave  me  a  chance  free  if 
I  split.  I  knew  you  would  n't  wait  long,  and  would 
be  safe." 

"  But  the  fortune,"  cried  Miss  Mischief.  "  Of  course 
you  were  lucky  to  get  off,  but  where  does  the  fortune 
come  in  ?  " 

"You  know  our  little  experience  with  the  Plagiaristic 
Bureau  and  all  that  ?  Well,  it  struck  me  you  'd  be  good 
material.  I  found  your  diary,  and  all  London  was  talking 
about  your  visits  to  the  Johnnies.  There  were  names 
enough  in  your  list  to  make  'em  talk  more  yet,  so  I  made 
the  whole  story  into  a  book,  '  The  Amours  of  a  Burglar,'  I 
called  it,  and  it  went  like  a  runaway  horse.  Forty-three 
thousand  copies  first  week  before  publication  !  " 

"  You  wrote  a  book?"  Florizelle  exclaimed,  in  blank 
surprise.  "Lord,  Guy,  but  you  have  changed  !  " 

"  Of  course  I  did  n't  write  it  up  myself"  Mr.  Bounder 
explained.  "  You  remember  that  poet  chap  we  pinched 
'  A  Pilgrimage  to  Parnassus  '  from  ?  Well,  he  was  always 
whining  about,  after  our  royalties  began  to  come  in,  you  re 
member,  and  I  took  pity  on  him,  and  gave  it  to  him  to  do. 

[  'S3] 


LADY   MECHANTE 


Tipped  him  twenty  guineas,  and  he  turned  out  some  swell 
stuff,  for  once  in  his  life." 

«  H'm  —  I  think  I'd  like  to  read  it,"  murmured  the 
lady,  lost  in  admiration  of  her  partner's  enterprise. 

"  I  've  got  a  copy  here,"  said  Bounder,  and  produced  a 
small  volume. 

Miss  Mischief  examined  it  curiously.  u  Bound  in  pink, 
oh,  Guy  !  don't  you  know  I  never  wear  pink  ?  It 's  shock 
ingly  unbecoming  !  And  what 's  this  ?  That 's  not  my 
picture,  Guy  ;  how  dared  you  ! 

"  Oh,  nobody  knows  it  is  n't,"  he  replied,  cavalierly  ;  "  it 's 
not  quite  so  pretty,  of  course,  but  that  makes  no 
difference  !  " 

u  I  '11  never  forgive  you,  never,  never  !  "  sobbed  the  lady. 

"  Oh,  please  don't  take  on  so,"  said  her  escort,  painfully 
disturbed.  "  I  had  no  idea  that  would  make  any  difference. 
I  say,  I  '11  get  out  another  edition  !  " 

She  looked  up,  her  eyes  misty  with  tears.  "There's 
only  one  way  you  can  atone  for  this,"  she  said.  "You  must 
help  my  game  in  Boston  !  " 

"  Done  !  "  cried  Guy  Bounder.  And  they  descended  into 
the  Subway  and  took  a  Reservoir  car. 


[  154] 


Chapter 

THE   QUEEN    OF   BOSTON 

Ten  such  campbire  constitutions  as  this  would  call  the  golden  age 


again  in  question 


(Philaster.) 


[T  was  sacrilege!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Essery. 
cc  The  hoyden!  At  the  Symphony!  In 
credible  !  Bless  me,  she  acted  as  if  she 
were  at  a  negro  camp  meeting.  She 
screamed,  Mrs.  Burlap,  she  actually 
screamed !  She  might  shriek  aloud  in 
King's  Chapel  of  an  Easter  Sunday  and  go  scot  free  —  she 
might  prance  up  the  aisle  backwards  at  a  Lowell  lecture 
—  she  might  take  ofF  her  shoes  on  the  Common  and  throw 
them  at  the  Colonel  of  the  Ancient  and  Honorable  Artil 
lery  Company  during  the  Governor's  Review,  —  but  scream 
at  a  Symphony  Rehearsal !  It  was  vandalism  !  We  are 
disgraced,  my  dear  Mrs.  Burlap,  disgraced  !  It  was  my 
one  hundred  and  fiftieth  attendance  at  the  Music  Hall; 
there  was  something  more  than  religious  in  the  ceremony. 
They-  were  playing  Brahms.  And  she  was  actually  in  the 
seat  in  front  of  you  !  In  front  of  Mrs.  Braxton-Burlap  ! 
Why,  in  the  old  times  she  would  have  been  l  ducked, 
feathered,  and  rode  in  a  cart '  !  And  you  profess  an  interest 
in  this  shameless  creature  ?  I  am  overwhelmed  ! 

Her  silken    thorax   distended   in  a  mighty  gasp,  and   she 
held  up  one  hand  with  a  gesture.      Her  agitation  was  pictur- 

[  155] 


LADY   MECHANTE 


esque.  Mrs.  Essery  afloat  upon  the  troubled  waters  of 
emotion  was  a  sight  for  the  scientific  alienist.  She  towered 
like  an  inverted  pyramid  ;  she  swung,  in  her  profound  mood, 
like  a  man-o'-war  at  anchor  tickled  by  restless  currents. 
She  was  top-heavy  with  the  bulk  and  weight  of  her  anger, 
and  stared  convulsively  at  the  leader  of  society,  who  sat  at 
the  little  silver-mounted  tea-table. 

Mrs.  Braxton-Burlap  was  not  beautiful.  That  is  not 
necessary  in  Boston  ;  but  she  had  achieved  a  throne.  Her 
hats,  her  fads,  her  protege's,  had  inspired  legends.  In  Bos 
ton's  folk-lore  she  stood  pre-eminent.  To  know  her  or 
of  her,  to  be  familar  with  what  she  patronized,  to  be  ac 
quainted  with  her  enthusiasms,  was  a  post-graduate  course 
for  every  Boston  debutante.  Original  and  forceful,  eccen 
tric  even  for  Boston,  Mrs.  Braxton-Burlap  had  no  rival  to 
question  her  reign. 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Essery,"  she  said,  dissolving  a  crystal  of 
rock-candy  in  a  dish  of  Young  Hyson  tea,  and  adding  a 
clove,  daintily,  "  I  am  not  so  sure  ;  really,  I  am  not  so 
sure  !  "  She  scrutinized  the  bubbles  upon  the  meniscus  of 
the  liquor.  u  It  was  not  musical  mania,  certainly.  As 
suredly  there  was  something  deeper  in  it.  Did  you  catch 
what  she  said  ?  Do  you  realize  that  the  phrase  closely  re 
sembled  the  ancient  Cymric?  She  fainted,  you  think; 
I  am  not  sure  that  it  was  not  trance,  somnambulism,  or 
some  more  mysterious  abnormal  state.  She  had  the  hand 
of  the  psychic  •,  her  eyebrows  sloped  upward  ;  her  hair,  too, 
was  red.  Surely  these  are  not  the  stigmata  of  degeneracy. 
She  must  be  a  Person.  It  was  very  wonderful !  " 

"  But  she  was  seen  sitting  upon  a  bench  on  the  Com 
mon  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Essery,  fuming  with  the  indignity. 

"  Ah,  yes,  there  is  the  marvel  !  "   Mrs.  Burlap  assented. 


THE   QIJEEN   OF  BOSTON 


"  But  her  companion  was  no  common  man.  Did  you 
notice  how  much  he  looked  like  a  Belgian  Hare  ?  I  have 
observed  that  the  most  spiritual  men  that  have  come  from 
the  Orient  resemble  animals.  Extremes  meet,  my  dear 
Mrs.  Essery,  and  the  nearer  we  approach  the  spiritual,  the 
greater  the  analogy  to  the  animal.  The  spiral  curves  up 
ward,  it  is  true,  but  it  comes  opposite  the  same  pole  at 
last,  completing  the  circle.  That  man  was,  I  am  convinced, 
a  mystic  of  a  new  sort.  He  reminded  me  of  Vivekananda 
by,  so  to  speak,  his  very  dissimilarity.  We  must  escape  the 
obvious  at  all  costs,  and  seek  paradoxes  where  we  may. 
Depend  upon  it,  we  shall  hear  more  of  them  both  ! 

"  Oh,  of  course,  if  you  think  that"  gasped  the  elder 
woman,  and  subsided  at  the  dictum. 

"  It  used  to  be  said,"  continued  the  uncrowned  queen, 
"  that  we  Bostonians  knew  nothing  that  was  not  believed, 
and  believed  nothing  that  was  not  new.  The  pun  bears 
internal  evidence  of  a  Western  origin.  It  is  flippant  and 
meretricious.  But  we  do  demand  novelties.  In  other 
places,  I  believe,  it  takes  seven  years  to  accomplish  the 
physical  transubstantiation  of  personality,  particle  by  par 
ticle.  Here  we  have  a  more  rapid  growth,  and,  intellec 
tually  at  least,  we  are  newly  created  every  year.  This 
woman,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  has  a  Mission,  and  has  it 
come  to  pass  that  Boston  shall  contemn  the  importer  of 
new  tidings?  I  shall  watch  her  !" 

"But  there  is  nothing  left,"  said  Mrs.  Essery,  nodding 
her  beaded  plumes.  "  What  cult  can  she  create  ?  We 
have  thought  of  everything  here  in  Boston,  have  we  not?  " 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,  it  is  not  in  new  truths,  but  in  the 
revival  of  old  beliefs,  that  Boston  has  achieved  her  suprem 
acy,"  Mrs.  Burlap  insisted.  "  She  may  restore  Calvinism, 

[157] 


LADT  M EC H ANTE 


for  all  I  know ;  she  might  well  go  back  to  the  musical 
glasses,  the  time  is  ripe  for  it."  She  pointed  her  finger  at 
an  array  of  modern  daguerreotypes  upon  the  mantel.  "  Per 
haps  that  is  why  she  was  at  the  Rehearsal,  but  I  fancy  not. 
I  hope  she  is  no  alarmist  !  " 

To  the  two  now  entered  Miss  Hetty  Hattitude  from  the 
brick  house  across  Chestnut  Street.  She  was  as  correctly 
packed  into  her  tailor-made  garb  as  a  fine  cigar  in  its 
wrapper,  and  labeled  with  the  standard  hall-marks  of  con 
vention.  One  felt  assured  of  mildness  and  quality.  In 
shape  a  slim  gracile  Panatela,  in  coloring  a  rich  Colorado 
Claro,  Miss  Hattitude  breathed  an  aroma  of  good  taste  and 
perfect  construction  according  to  the  models  in  vogue. 
Her  light  chocolate  hair  hung  about  her  head  like  smoke. 
She  was  dapperly  dressed  in  brown  with  a  golden  belt 
which  alone  defied  the  strictness  of  her  make-up.  Her 
eye  showed  her  a  creature  of  possibilities  ;  she  had  temper 
ament  ;  once  lighted  and  she  would  burn  !  But  as  yet  she 
was  crisp  and  mannered,  molded,  as  Boston  molds  her 
young,  into  a  suspiciously  prim  severity.  Her  restless  blue 
eye  peeped,  diminished,  from  a  concave  lens. 

She  walked  straight  up  to  Mrs.  Burlap,  exchanged  a 
salute  upon  the  cheek,  and  drifted  to  a  chaise  longue,  draw 
ing  off"  a  pair  of  ashen-hued  gloves. 

"  And  where  have  you  been,  dear  ?  "  said  her  hostess. 

"In  Vagabondia — in  the  Latin  Quarter  —  in  Nazareth," 
said  Miss  Hattitude,  "that  is,  in  the  South  End.  One 
never  knows  nowadays  where  the  Century  Plant  will 
bloom.  The  Saturday  M9rning  lectures  fixed  a  center  to 
the  town,  but  now  new  prophets  arise  in  every  suburb.  It 
was  on  Columbus  Avenue !  " 

The  two   ladies   seemed  surprised,  but  Mrs.   Burlap   re- 

[  '58] 


THE   gJJEEN   OF  BOSTON 


covered  her  customary  point  of  view.  "And  what  more 
likely  ?  "  she  said.  "  Columbus  Avenue  has  long  been  con 
sidered  but  a  row  of  cheap  lodging-houses  and  Chinese 
laundries,  but  I  assure  you  it  is,  in  a  way,  positively  Me 
dieval.  I  have  seen  the  legends  of  Practical  Psychome- 
trists,  heaven  save  the  mark,  and  there  is,  I  believe,  a 
College  of  Astrology  extant  upon  that  ill-paved  boulevard. 
It  is  like  a  bit  of  twelfth-century  Paris,  except  that  the 
modern  grisette  and  the  Technology  student  are  anachro 
nisms.  Mysticism  flourishes  on  Columbus  Avenue,  I  am 
well  aware  !  " 

"  Indeed  it  does,"  assented  the  girl  in  brown.  "  It  was 
really  quite  amusing.  One  longs  so  to  believe  this  trash, 
you  know.  It  is  quite  picturesque.  If  it  were  not  so 
badly  composed,  this  tinge  of  transcendentalism  would  be 
positively  decorative  !  " 

"  Something  will  come  yet,  I  am  sure,"  said  the  Queen 
of  Boston.  "It  is  quite  time  —  and  why  not  in  the  South 
End?  It  is  near  fifteen  years  since  it  brought  forth  its 
last  priestess." 

"  I  really  think  so,"  Miss  Hattitude  complied.  "  One 
must  investigate,  one  must  place  oneself  in  a  passive  state  of 
mind.  But  this  was  too  funny.  It  was,  of  course,  as  usual 
all  about  Phenomena.  I  am  so  wearied  with  Phenomena." 

"  Commend  me  to  the  terminology  of  your  South  End 
mystic  for  baldness  of  vocabulary,"  interposed  Mrs.  Essery. 
"  They  talk  like  musical  boxes,  the  same  scrap  of  tune 
perpetually  repeated." 

"  But  you  may  miss  the  inner  significance,  after  all," 
Mrs.  Burlap  hastily  interposed.  "  Say  it  is  more  like  the 
prattle  of  infants.  Who  knows  but  they  both  are  express 
ing  the  vague  universal  truths  of  the  Cosmos,  so  rapidly  lost, 

[  '59] 


LADY   M EC H ANTE 


so  hopelessly  confused  in  their  ignorance  of  the  phraseology 
of  this  present  existence  ?  " 

Mrs.  Essery  was  silenced,  and  Miss  Hattitude  went  on. 

u  Perhaps  you  can  translate  the  farrago,  then  !  It  was 
a  'Soul-Measuring  Parlor'  I  went  to,  and  I  was  received 
by  a  mad  Professor,  a  tall  curly  man  with  patent-leather 
slippers,  who  looked  as  if  he  had  been  waiting  for  us  sev 
eral  hours.  His  wife  was  lying  upo,n  a  sofa  asleep,  appar 
ently  having  been  talked  to  death.  It  was  a  horrid  room, 
a  jungle  of  old  collars,  newspapers,  and  photographs.  The 
man  said  he  was  developing  his  wife's  sub-conscious  ego, 
and  her  second  self  was  supposed  to  be  wonderfully  clair 
voyant.  He  said  I  was  a  psychic,  too,  and  I  think  I  must 
have  blushed  !  " 

"  But  was  n't  there  anything  new  ?  "  queried  Mrs. 
Essery. 

u  New  !  It  was  new  to  me  to  be  received  in  the  pres 
ence  of  a  disheveled,  semi-comatose  wife,"  said  Miss 
Hattitude.  "  But  as  near  as  I  can  remember,  he  was  some 
kind  of  combination  of  Mesmerist  and  Phrenologist.  He 
said  he  was  writing  a  paper  on  the  'Relativity  of  Knowl 
edge  and  the  Unknowable'  for  the  Institute  of  Occult 

o 

Science.  And  he  was  simply  mad  on  Phenomena.  He 
said  we  were  only  just  beginning  to  understand  Nature." 

"  What  did  I  tell  you  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Burlap,  triumphantly. 

"  Well,  he  had  n't  more  than  just  begun,  I  'm  sure  of 
that,"  said  the  brown  girl.  "  He  said  Science  has  given  us 
only  Facts,  but  what  lies  behind  those  Eacts  we  don't 
know  ourselves,  in  our  normal  condition.  What  we  have 
to  do  is  to  develop  the  sub-cerebrum  by  what  he  called 
Hyptonism,  and  bring  about  Phenomena!  The  true  cause 
of  things,  according  to  him,  was  Phenomena  and  Sub- 

[  160  1 


THE    QUEEN   OF  BOSTON 


consciousness. 


Well,  that  woman  was  a  phenomenon,  if 
anything  ever  was.  He  said,  'What  I  claim  is  we  need  a 
new  Media,  and  in  that  way  we  develop  Aura  and  Condi 
tions  leading  us  to  the  Absolute  !  '  Did  you  ever?  Then 
he  said  a  lot  more  about  Consanguinity  and  Types  and 
Tendencies  and  Anthropomorphism  and  ^Estivation  and 
Philopropogenitativeness  and  Amatitativeness  and,  of  course, 
Nirvana  !  " 

"  Chuh  !  we  stopped  talking  about  Nirvana  in  1889!" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Essery. 

"  Yes,  it  is  hardly  time  for  more  of  that  yet,"  said  the 
hostess.  "I  admit  he  was  cheap.  But  there's  still  hope." 

"Then  Miss  Mischief  came  in,  and  he  told  her  she  was 
an  Amalgamated  Type  !  "  said  Miss  Hattitude. 

"  Who  ?  "   cried  both  the  other  ladies. 

"  Why,  she  said  her  name  was  that,  and  I  think  she  was 
the  woman  who  fainted  at  the  last  Symphony  Rehearsal  !  " 

Mrs.  Burlap  sat  bolt  upright. 

"  There  !  I  knew  it !  "  she  proclaimed.  "  Tell  us  about 
her  !  " 

"  She  came  in  with  a  man  with  a  plaid  waistcoat  and  a 
monocle,  and  she  whispered  all  the  time.  She  seemed 
rather  hurt  to  be  called  an  Amalgamated  Type,  but  when 
the  Professor  informed  her  she  was  super-conscious  rather 
than  sub-conscious,  she  rallied.  I  came  out  with  her  and 
walked  as  far  as  the  Providence  Depot." 

u  How  could  you  !  "    cried  the  lady  of  the  silken  thorax. 

"Easily,"  asserted  the  young  woman.  "She  was  very 
interesting.  She  said  she  could  do  better  than  that  herself, 
and  had  a  mind  to  try.  I  promised  her  I  'd  come  to  her 
seance,  and  she  said  she  'd  send  me  a  card.  The  man  with 
her  is  going  to  help  her  out." 
ii  [  161  ] 


LADY  MECHANTE 


"  The  idea  !  It 's  a  very  serious  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Essery, 
who  had  become  a  convert  to  Mrs.  Burlap's  empressement. 

"She's  trifling,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Burlap,  "but  she  may 
not  realize  her  powers.  I  shall  go  too  ;  decidedly  she  is  a 
person  to  be  studied.  Did  she  say  where  she  was  from  ?  " 

"I  did  not  inquire,"  said  Miss  Hattitude.  "She  had  an 
English  accent,  but  she  used  barbarous  slang.  She  must 
have  been  out  West  a  considerable  time.  I  doubt  if  Mis 
chief  is  her  true  name,  though." 

The  two  ladies  were  scandalized.      An  alias  in  Boston  ! 

"  iVJark  my  words,  something  will  come  of  this  !  "  was 
Mrs.  Burlap's  warning  as  the  two  callers  left  the  house. 


Chapter 

CAT  PARK'S   SERIO-COMIC 

I  feel  a  stark  affrighted  motion  in  my  blood! 

(The  Maid's  Tragedy.) 

OT  alone  in  its  intellectual  character  is 
Boston  unique.  Its  geography,  its  topog 
raphy,  and  the  very  plan  upon  which  it  is 
laid  out,  all  are  different  from  most  Ameri 
can  cities.  Most  original  of  all  is  the 
secondary  system  of  alleys  subdividing  the 
blocks  of  houses,  and  whose  minor  passages,  like  tiny  veins, 
connect  the  more  important  arteries.  Down  town,  one 
may  parallel  Tremont  Street  from  Boylston  Street  to 
Temple  Place,  and  if  you  are  a  native,  even  to  the  City 
Hall,  without  ever  traveling  the  main  street,  but  by  cutting 
across  them  and  by  successive  plunges  into  the  interior  of 
blocks,  escaping  the  thoroughfares.  It  is  so  even  in  the 
more  modern  district  known  as  the  South  End,  except  that 
here  the  explorer  may  discover  secret  little  parks,  hidden 
hugger-mugger  in  the  midst  of  wildernesses  of  back  yards 
—  closes  given  upon  by  the  windows  of  the  surrounding 
houses,  but  unsuspected  of  the  wayfarer.  They  are  for 
the  most  part  ill-kept,  with  slovenly  trees  and  gravel  walks, 
and  visited  seldom  by  anyone  save  urchins,  scavengers,  and 
rag-men. 

Such   as    this   is  the   mysterious   islet   of   scant    verdure, 
fenced  with  palings,  that  lies  inside  the  triangle  formed  by 


LADY   M EC II ANTE 


Warren  Avenue,  Columbus  Avenue,  and  West  Canton 
Street.  Ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred  Bostonians  will 
profess  ignorance  of  the  precinct,  which  to  the  abutting 
residents  is  known  as  Cat  Park.  It  is  visited,  on  rare 
occasions,  by  a  perfunctory  gardener,  but  the  single  gate  is 
usually  locked.  It  lies  surrounded  by  alleys  which  form  a 
figure  4,  and  has  a  single  inlet,  down  a  flight  of  stone  steps, 
out  of  West  Canton  Street. 

It  was  near  the  end  of  A/larch,  and  the  long  suspense 
which  in  this  climate  precedes  the  spring  had  for  the  day 
given  place  to  a  sunlit  sky  of  surprising  frankness.  The 
weather  was  acting  one  of  its  endless  lies,  and  came  out, 
tricked  in  all  the  colors  of  May  to  induce  Bostonians  to 
believe  that  winter  was  dead.  The  two  who  sat  on  a 
bench  in  Cat  Park  were  seemingly  imposed  upon,  though 
they  gazed  at  the  double  windows  which  upon  the  backs 
of  the  houses  of  the  triangle  betrayed  the  scepticism  of  the 
residents.  The  man  sat  bareheaded,  and  the  woman  was 
without  wrap,  in  innocent  trustfulness.  The  several  trees, 
too,  were  guileless  enough  to  put  forth  their  green  buds 
and  spread  a  tinge  of  mild  verdancy  across  the  enclosure. 
Down  the  alley  from  Brookline  Street  a  vagabond  ped 
dler  came  slowly,  whining  his  call,  "Rags  —  sacks  —  or 
bot-tles  !  " 

There  was  something  touchingly  simple  in  the  naive 
seclusion  of  the  pair  upon  the  bench.  The  whole  of  the 
Back  Bay  Park,  the  Fens,  or  the  Riverway  had  been  theirs 
for  the  price  of  two  trolley-tickets,  but  they  preferred  this 
homely  recess  in  Cat  Park,  with  its  circular  gravel  walk, 
its  eight  elms,  and  the  lead-colored  palings  that  kept  off  the 
encroachment  of  a  hideous  line  of  back-yard  fences. 

As  they  sat  there  in  the  sunshine,  their  eyes  were 
[  "Hi 


CAT   PARK'S    SERIO-COMIC 


fastened  upon  the  machinations  of  two  young  girls  in 
the  rear  window  of  a  Columbus  Avenue  boarding-house. 
These  were,  it  would  seem,  in  a  fit  of  the  female  giggles. 
Their  hair  flopped  a  la  Pompadour  over  their  brows  and 
they  were  clad  —  well,  not  for  the  street.  PVom  time  to 
time  they  held  to  the  pane  of  their  window  large  white 
letters  cut  from  writing  paper.  It  was  not  difficult  to 
discover  their  system  and  its  efficacy,  for  across  the  tri 
angle,  in  the  third-story  window  of  a  Warren  Avenue 
room,  a  young  man  in  a  red  flannel  bath-robe  commanded 
the  comedy  with  a  pair  of  opera  glasses. 

The  two  on  the  bench  followed  the  pantomime  with  a 
listless  abstraction  and  a  feline  comfort  in  the  balm  of  the 
atmosphere.  A  painter  daubing  a  back-yard  fence  with 
ochre  had  also  been  the  mute  participant  in  the  scene  and 
had  vainly  attempted  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  frowsy 
damsels  by  inscribing  huge  yellow  letters  upon  the  unpainted 
portion  of  the  boarding.  He  now  held  his  brush  idly  and 
watched  his  rival  in  the  window.  Three  small  boys  armed 
with  wooden  swords  came  dashing  down  the  alley,  filling 
the  wooden  lane  with  their  cries.  They  galloped  up  the 
passage  pursued  by  their  opposing  clan.  The  upper  part  of 
the  figure  4,  at  its  apex,  was  a  cul-de-sac  of  high  fences,  but 
these  the  fugitives  took  manfully,  escalading  the  barriers  and 
swarming  across  the  labyrinth  towards  an  intricate  but  to 
them  possible  escape  by  way  of  Columbus  Square.  The 
riot  spent  itself  in  echoes,  and  all  would  have  been  still,  but 
the  rag-man  had  circumnavigated  the  parklet  and  was  now 
droning  down  the  other  side. 

The  flirtation  proceeded  laboriously,  but  seemed  to  be, 
upon  the  whole,  worth  while  to  the  ardent  participants, 
who  had  obviously  little  else  to  do.  The  telegraph  was 

[  -65] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


clumsy  and  patent  to  any  observer  as  it  spelled  out  its  silly 
message.  M— E— E— T—U— S— A— T— T— H— E 

-  P— U— B—  I I_C— L— I—  B— R— A— R— Y  " 

came,  letter  after  letter,  against  the  glass,  the  manipulators 
having  not  wit  enough  even  to  abbreviate.  The  youth 
across  the  way  had  begun  his  reply  when  the  man  on  the 
bench  spoke. 

"This  place  hasn't  changed  a  bit  since  I  was  a  boy, 
Roberta,"  sai'd  the  hatless  man.  "  To  all  appearances  the 
scene  inevitably  generates  the  same  incidents,  year  after 
year.  How  many  such  languid  days  I  have  spent,  for  all 
the  world  like  that  fool  yonder,  flirting  across  the  park. 
Here,  too,  I  was  a  juvenile  barbarian.  I  tasted  feudal  days 
and  fought  out  duels  with  wooden  swords  !  I  was  tied  up 
by  my  thumbs  in  that  very  corner !  I  believe  this  rag 
man  is  the  same  old  Wandering  Jew  of  my  boyhood  !  But 
I  never  sat  in  this  Park  before  !  I  never  saw  anyone  ever 
sit  here.  I  always  thought  it  impossible.  Even  now  I 
am  wondering  at  my  temerity.  It  was  a  place  sacred  to 
the  predatory  tom-cat,  unsullied  by  human  footprint  !  This 
adventure  looms  heroic,  but  I  have  lost  an  ideal.  It 
is  an  anticlimax.  I  am  almost  sorry  I  came.  We  are  a 
spectacle  for  the  residents.  This  park  is  like  a  bouquet  of 
wax  flowers  under  a  bell-glass,  not  meant  to  be  touched, 
smelled,  or  even  looked  at,  except  askance,  apologetically  ! : 

"  But  whom  did  you  flirt  with  across  the  way  ?  "  inquired 
his  wife,  Roberta.  "  Were  you  ever  such  a  precious  sim 
pleton  as  that  ?  Look  at  that  nincompoop  making  a  poster 
of  himself  in  the  window,  now  !  " 

UI  confess,"  replied  the  gentleman,  fanning  himself  with 
a  pot  hat,  "  Cat  Park,  revisited  after  twenty  years,  does 
appear  a  bit  tame,  not  to  say  foolish.  Yet  I  must  say  the 

[,66] 


CAT   PARK'S    SERIO-COMIC 


ass  in  that  window  arouses  a  passing  tender  memory.  If  I 
am  not  mistaken,  Hetty  Hattitude  once  lived  at  Number 
467.  That  was  before  the  great  exodus  from  the  South  End. 
Her  father  made  something  like  four  hundred  thousand 
dollars  one  afternoon,  and  the  Hattitudes  joined  the  migra 
tion.  The  Hegira  had  just  set  in,  and  the  Back  Bay  was 
the  land  of  promise  for  every  humble  resident  of  this  dis 
trict.  The  Hattitudes,  however,  were  not  satisfied  with 
Flatland,  and  the  desert  of  parvenues  round  about  Newbury 
Street.  They  made  boldly  for  Beacon  Hill,  and  no  one 
knows,  now,  that  their  propriety  was  not  dyed  in  the  wool. 

Roberta  yawned  from  the  combined  effects  of  the  sun 
shine  and  her  husband's  soliloquy  and  turned  her  attention 
to  the  aerial  flirtation.  The  Pompadours  had  just  exhibited 
the  figure  "  5  "  and  it  was  answered  by  the  letters  "  O  K  " 
from  the  window  of  the  young  man  in  the  red  robe.  The 
dialogue  seemed  to  be  completed  with  the  details  arranged 
for  the  assignation,  for  at  this  the  curtain  of  the  Columbus 
Avenue  apartment  was  discreetly  drawn.  Young  Lothario, 
however,  proceeded  with  his  toilet  in  Arcadian  simplicity, 
careless  of  observation. 

Out  of  his  window  hung  from  short  pieces  of  twine, 
three  beer  bottles.  No  doubt  his  amatory  efforts  had 
dried  his  tongue.  At  any  rate,  he  appeared  to  be  seized 
with  a  desire  to  possess  himself  of  the  liquid  refreshment, 
and  he  raised  the  sash  with  that  intent.  The  sill  was  low, 
the  knot  was  troublesome,  the  breeze  caught  at  his  lace 
curtains  and  wrapped  them  slyly  about  his  head.  In  his 
effort  to  free  himself,  something  appeared  to  give  way  behind 
him,  and,  of  a  sudden,  the  gentleman  found  himself  dis 
lodged  from  his  foothold  and  navigating  the  air. 

Mrs.  Stencill  screamed.  Mortimer  turned  just  in  time 
[  167] 


LADT   M ECU ANTE 


to  astonish  himself  with  the  spectacle  of  a  meteoric  descent, 
from  the  third-story  window,  of  an  animated  red  bath-robe 
-a  Darius  Green  dropped  like  an  exploded  firecracker 
projected  from  space.  He  jumped  up,  ran  to  the  fence, 
vaulted  the  pickets  and  up  the  alleyway  to  the  back  door  of 
Number  175  Warren  Avenue,  found  it  open,  and  entered, 
aghast  at  the  expectation  of  a  tragedy. 

But  it  was  a  Monday,  and  every  back  yard  in  the  block 
was  hung  with  the  washing  of  the  dwellers.  Here  the 
place  was  grotesque  with  a  display  of  damp  linen  of  reveal 
ing  shapes,  black  stockings,  and  other  unmentionable  articles 
of  apparel.  The  young  man's  flight  had  ended  with  a  vio 
lent  bounce  upon  the  tense  clothes-lines  stretched  from 
fence  to  fence,  and  as  Mr.  Stencill  entered,  the  victim  was 
still  enmeshed  and  shrouded  in  a  trap  of  rope  and  moist, 
clinging  sheets,  growling  profanely.  Mortimer  advanced 
delicately  through  the  maze  of  wet  cloth,  and  lent  a  hand 
to  the  unfortunate  aeronaut. 

Plucked  of  his  winding  sheets,  the  youth's  appearance 
was  hardly  less  ridiculous.  The  beer  bottle  was  still  firmly 
clutched  in  his  hand,  and  his  gaping  robe  permitted  a  display 
of  sea-green  underwear,  as  if  he  had  been  a  frog  who  had 
jumped  by  mistake  into  an  ocean  of  red  ink.  One  might 
have  permitted  a  certain  air  of  bashfulness  in  the  circum 
stances,  but  the  new  arrival  from  higher  regions  gave  a 
polite  and  well-poised  expression  of  thanks  to  his  rescuer. 

"'This  is  so  sudden,'  as  the  girl  said,"  he  remarked, 
jocosely.  "  Have  a  beer  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  expected  to  provide  the  bier  myself!  "  said  Mortimer 
Stencill.  "  Is  it  possible  that  your  back  's  not  broken  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,"  replied  the  stranger,  "  I  usually  come  down 
this  way.  I  believe  a  fellow  named  Darwin  wrote  a  book 

[  168] 


mm-mmm 


LADT   MECHANTE 


about  me  once.      Ever   read  the  l  Descent   of  Man  '  ?      I 
thought  so.      But  who 's   the    lady    at   the    gate  ?      I    don't 
usually  receive  callers  in  the  back  yard,  but  I   feel  honored, 
really'!" 
Roberta's  white   face   appeared.      "Is   he   much   hurt?" 

she  cried. 

"  Not  so  much  hurt,  madam,  but  that  I  shall  forgive  you 
the  intrusion,"  said  the  madcap,  and  he  made  a  low  bow 
amongst  a  row  of  table-cloths.  "  I  may  have  strained  a 
point  or  two,  in  my  haste,  but  I'll  live,  I  warrant  you. 
'T  is  not  so  bad  as  a  broken  heart." 

«  See  here,"  said  Mr.  Stencill.  "  You  'd  better  come  up 
to  my  room  and  let  me  look  you  over.  You  must  have 
several  inches  of  skin  missing,  at  least,  and  I  '11  rub  you 
down.  I  live  here  next  door.  I  '11  lend  you  something  to 
put  on  to  get  home  in,  too." 

"  Many  thanks,"  was  the  response.  "  I  '11  accept  your 
invitation.  I  '11  not  conceal  the  fact  that,  for  especial  rea 
sons,  I  'd  rather  not  go  upstairs  looking  like  this.  So,  if 
you  '11  show  me  the  way,  I  '11  come  with  pleasure.  I  believe 
I  have,  on  the  back  of  my  pate,  a  bump  you  might  anchor 
a  warship  to.  The  next  time  I  do  a  two-step  out  of  the 
window,  I  '11  wear  football  uniform  or  carry  a  parachute  !  " 

"You  certainly  could  n't  be  said  to  have  a  nervous,  sen 
sitive  organization,"  said  Stencill,  "you'd  make  a  good 
wooden  Indian  "  ;  and  he  led  the  fallen  angel  out  of  the 
yard,  and  into  the  house  next  door.  They  went  upstairs  in 
quest  of  a  suit  of  clothes  and  arnica.  Roberta  discreetly 
retired. 

In  the  upper  room  the  youth  introduced  himself  as  Mr. 
Roulhac  Braghampton,  of  San  Francisco.  He  was,  he  as 
serted,  a  Harvard  medical  student,  though  his  method  with 

[  170] 


CAT   PARK'S    SERIO-COMIC 


his  contusions  belied  him.  He  hinted  darkly  at  ulterior 
pursuits,  and  Mortimer  Stencill,  always  upon  the  lookout 
for  the  picturesque,  plied  him  with  hints  and  questions. 

"I'm  after  a  girl,"  Mr.  Braghampton  confessed  at  last. 
"  I  've  chased  her  across  the  continent,  and  I  have  good 
reason  to  believe  she's  taken  refuge  in  Boston,  as  the  most 
unlikely  place  in  the  world  to  find  one  of  her  antecedents. 
I  had  a  mix-up  with  her  in  San  Francisco,  and  she's  as 
mysterious  as  a  gold  brick.  I  was  very  fond  of  the  defend 
ant,  but  she  gave  me  paper  flowers,  and  I  want  to  try  another 
heat  with  her.  She  made  me  that  an  ass  of,  Mr.  Stencill, 
that  I  could  n't  see  a  load  of  hay  coming  down  the  street 
without  feeling  hungry  !  No,  I  hadn't  a  blush  in  the  house 
for  breakfast,  after  she  got  through  with  me.  She  made  me 
think  I  was  about  eight  years  old,  and  I  've  barely  caught 
up  with  myself  yet.  I  thought  I  was  a  stem-winder,  but  I 
found  out  she  had  the  only  key  that  would  fit." 

ct  Who  was  she,  and  what  did  she  look  like  ?  "  demanded 
his  interlocutor. 

"She  was  anybody  you  cared  to  name,"  was  the  reply. 
"  Kitty  Carmine  first  of  all,  then  Cicely  Fex,  and  the 
Countess  Rouge  too.  \Vhen  we  eloped,  she  was  Celestine 
Jewburg,  and  when  you  knew  Celestine  Jewburg,  you  knew 
the  limit  !  Look  like  ?  She  looked  like  the  lady  on  the 
twenty-dollar  gold  piece  !  Hair  of  the  color  of  the  inside 
of  a  cantaloupe,  eyes  like  blue  agate  marbles,  and  a  mouth 
like  a  pipe-dream  !  Oh,  she  was  of  the  greyhound  type,  easy 
enough  !  She  could  pull  down  all  the  prizes  in  the  show 
without  a  collar !  Why,  Congress  would  adjourn  if  she 
came  into  the  room,  sure.  She  used  to  wear  blue,  mostly  ; 
Parsifal  blue,  and  gold  braid  that  would  jerk  you  right  up 
and  throw  you  over  the  fence.  I  went  dotty  at  the  first 


LADY   MECHANTE 


rattle  out  of  the  box,  and  she  had  me  labeled  and  checked 
and  her  initials  burned  into  me  from  the  word  'go!'  To 
come  right  down  to  brass  tacks,  I  fell  in  love,  and  now  I  'm 
high  and  dry,  with  the  tide  going  out.  Would  n't  that  slice 
you  ?  I  wanted  to  marry  that  girl,  Mr.  Stencill,  I  had  it 
all  mapped  out  for  a  Home  Sweet  Home  factory,  complete 
including  triplicate  mirrors  and  cockroaches  in  the  kitchen, 
but  she  gave  me  the  invisible  footprint,  and  now  I  'm  up  a 
tree  !  " 

u  She  must  have  been  a  lively  baggage  to  get  ahead  of 
V0#,"  said  Mortimer  Stencill.  "  I  never  knew  of  but  one 
that  I  think  could  do  it." 

"  She  was  a  pretty  hot  piece  of  pie !  But  who  was 
yours  ?  "  said  the  Braghampton,  pulling  on  StencilPs  coat, 
after  carefully  inspecting  the  tailor's  name  in  the  inside  of 
the  collar. 

u  They  called  her  Lady  Mechanic,  and  she  was  the  talk 
of  London,  two  years  since,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  'd  have 
fallen  in  love  with  her  myself  if  I  had  n't  already  been  so 
deep  in  I  couldn't  come  up  to  the  surface.  She  came  over 
on  the  steamer  with  us,  and  she  disappeared  in  New  York 
as  soon  as  we  landed." 

u  If  there  's  two  of  her  kind  on  earth,  it 's  time  for  me  to 
go  out  of  business,"  said  Roulhac.  "  One  is  about  ten 
million  too  many  for  me,  and  I  'm  no  yop,  either.  But  if 
I  meet  her,  I  '11  die  game.  If  she  wants  me  to  pull  down 
the  moon  and  paint  the  back  side  of  it  green,  I  '11  have  a  go 
at  it  somehow  !  Did  your  seraph  wear  red  hair  ?" 

"  Romanesque  —  and  blue  eyes,  too,"  said  Stencill. 

"  What  d'  you  think  ?  "  said  Braghampton,  half  closing 
his  eyes. 

"  I  think  it  was  the  same  one." 

[  i?*] 


CAT:  PARK'S  SERIO-COMIC 


«  Sure  ?  " 

"  Sure  !  "  said  the  older  man.  "  She  was  cold  death  on 
Romance  !  London  was  too  small  for  her.  She  turned 
the  city  inside  out  and  went  through  all  the  pockets. 
They  're  looking  for  her  yet." 

«  Who  are  ?  " 

"  The  police." 

"  It 's  the  same,  then,"  the  young  man  observed,  hope 
fully.  "  All  we  got  to  do  is  to  lay  low  and  wait  for  things 
to  happen.  If  she's  in  this  town,  there'll  he  something 
doing  pretty  soon.  I  say,  what  was  the  little  game  in 
London  ?  " 

u  Crime,"  said  the  other.  "She  was  a  burglar — the 
most  sentimental  felon  afloat.  Oh,  she  was  running  far 

'  O 

out  of  the  ordinary  criminal  orbit  when  I  knew  her,  and 
she  had  so  many  motives  the  police  could  n't  do  a  thing. 
What  was  she  up  to  in  San  Francisco  ?  " 

"  Hypnotism  and  general  deviltry.  She  can  get  drunker 
over  a  good  joke  than  a  short  session  of  the  D.  T's.  Say, 
her  mind  will  hold  nails,  all  right.  You  can't  side-step  her. 
When  I  flagged  her,  the  town  was  up  against  a  jolly  that 
threw  all  the  cars  ofF  the  track.  I  always  said  a  28-inch 
waist  was  better  than  a  high  forehead,  but,  by  the  Purple 
Cow,  she 's  got  'em  both  !  D'  you  know,  we  called  out 
the  town  in  night-shirts!  " 

"  What  in  the  world  do  you  mean  ?  "  Stencill  ejaculated. 

u  That's  what!  We  called  'em  out.  Parade,  band  of 
music,  and  all  the  side  dishes.  Hypnotic  Club  outfit  it  was. 
We  got  control  of  the  whole  shooting-match,  fired  them  up 
with  post-hypnotic  suggestions,  and  they  went  ofT  bang! 
A  thousand  of  'em  turned  out  in  nighties,  as  slick  as 
ghosts  !  Then  the  place  got  too  hot  for  us,  and  we  sloped." 

[  173] 


LADT   M EC H ANTE 


"  How  did  you  lose  her  ?  " 

"  She  gave  me  the  mesmeric  eye  at  the  ferry,  and  I  was 
lost  in  the  shuffle.  Hence  these  tears  !  " 

"  Godfrey  de  Bouillon  !  "  exclaimed  the  Mortimer  Sten- 
cill.  "  I  think  I  '11  stay  in  Boston  and  see  if  she  turns  up." 

"  You  better  !  "  said  Roulhac.  "  There  's  going  to  be  a 
landslide  in  this  neck  of  woods.  I  don't  know  whether  it 
will  be  a  skirt  dance  on  the  roof  of  the  Old  State  House, 

filling  up  Charles  River  with  pink  molasses,  but  there'll 


or 


certainly  be  something  doing,  sure  ! 


[174] 


Chapter  Jfour 

A  FLIRTATION  IN  COPLEY  SQUARE 


'Fore  God,  she  's  a  delicate  dab  chick  !     I  must  have  her. 

(The  Alchemist.) 

lOBERTA  STENCILL'S  interest  in  her 
friends  and  acquaintances  was  scarcely 
sharp  and  keen  enough  to  be  termed  in 
quisitive,  yet  her  husband  called  her  a 
matchmaker.  She  had  an  observing  eye, 
and  no  disguise  was  safe  from  her  inspec 
tion.  To  travel  with  her  upon  a  street  car  was  to  hear 
read  the  character  and  intimate  habits  of  every  passenger 
aboard  the  conveyance,  and  one  felt  the  burden  that  was 
put  upon  her  by  being,  even  though  unsuspected,  a  confi 
dant  of  every  sufferer  from  love  or  pride  in  the  vicinity. 
Mortimer  Stencill  was  an  actor  of  indifferent  merit,  but  his 
wife  might  have  made  a  name  for  herself  upon  the  stage. 
She  was,  however,  condemned  to  the  part  of  auditor  and 
spectator,  and  she  made  it  her  business  to  read  life  from  the 
evidence  of  tiny  traits  of  deportment. 

It  was  her  whim,  that  afternoon,  to  spy  upon  the  amour 
of  the  young  man  with  whom  she  and  her  husband  had 
become  so  strangely  acquainted,  and,  towards  half-past-four, 
the  two  made  their  way  to  the  Public  Library  to  enjoy  the 
spectacle  of  Roulhac  Braghampton  at  his  arts.  Affecting 
interest  in  the  bronzes  and  frescoes,  they  endured  the  tedium 
of  a  half-hour's  wait,  but  were  unrewarded  with  a  view  of 

[175] 


jy 

o*-b     v 


<rt> 


LADT   MECHANTE 


the  San  Francisco  precocity.  Two  maidens  in  pompadours, 
chewing  gum  surreptitiously,  they  did  see,  the  forerunners 
of  the  comedy,  but  their  hero  was  apparently  playing  the 
laggard  lover.  The  two  girls  at  last,  wearied  of  his  incon 
stancy,  departed  in  high  dudgeon,  bridling  scornfully. 

Like  all  women  who  are  blessed  with  the  powers  of  in 
tuition  Mrs.  Stencill  sometimes  overshot  the  mark.  In  her 
pragmatic  mind,  from  this  time  forth,  Roulhac  Braghamp- 
ton  was  branded  craven.  It  did  not  matter  that  she 
strongly  disapproved  such  cheap  and  easy  familiarity  as  he 
had  shown  in  his  brazen  flirtation,  she  felt  herself  person 
ally  aggrieved. 

Her  wrath  was  not  diminished,  therefore,  when,  upon 
leaving  the  Library  with  Mortimer,  she  met,  face  to  face, 
the  young  reprehensible  in  full  flower  of  decorum,  smartly 
attired  to  the  tune  of  the  season,  walking  in  assiduous 
converse  with  a  young  lady  in  brown.  Roulhac  bowed 
sedately  and  passed  on.  The  girl  with  the  smoky  choco 
late  hair  did  not  so  much  as  look  up.  Roberta  gasped  at 
the  change  of  partners,  and  turned  to  her  husband  with 
opened  lips. 

"  Did  you  ever  ?  "   she  ejaculated. 

"Only  once!"  was  his  reply.  "That  man  is  a  very 
Lochinvar!  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  the  lady  he  is  fasci 
nating  is  none  other  than  Hetty  Hattitude.  Braghampton 
flies  high." 

The  compliment  to  Roulhac's  audacity  was,  in  point  of 
fact,  not  undeserved,  but  Fate  had  aided  him.  What  he 
did  not  quite  deserve,  however,  was  Mrs.  Stencill's  scorn. 
Some  aberration  of  memory  had  misled  him,  and,  with  the 
strong  conviction  that  it  was  upon  the  steps  of  the  Art 
Museum,  across  Copley  Square  from  the  Library,  that  he 

[176] 


A   FLIRTATION  IN  COPLEY   SQUARE 


was  to  meet  the  damsels  of  Columbus  Avenue,  had  made 
him  wait  a  dreary  half-hour  at  the  door  of  the  terra-cotta 
edifice  for  the  two  who  came  not,  having  a  more  exact 
recollection  of  the  rendezvous.  It  may  be  that  Roulhac 
had  in  mind  some  previous  assignation.  At  any  rate,  he 
was  innocent  of  any  trick  of  disloyalty  to  his  promise. 

He  had  waited,  then,  with  what  patience  a  line  of  im 
petuous  ancestors  had  meagerly  endowed  his  soul.  He  had 
thrice  rearranged  his  tie  under  cover  of  the  portal's  gloom, 
and  he  had  often  resisted  the  temptation  to  use  the  nearly 
folded  handkerchief  in  his  breast  pocket.  But  he  had  not 
waited  alone.  There  was,  it  had  seemed,  another  truant 
missing,  and  he  cast  glances  of  increasing  interest  upon  the 
girl  in  brown  who  paced  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  Art 
Museum,  in  apparent  anticipation  of  an  appointment. 
When  she  came  up  and  stood  in  the  same  archway,  he 
felt  encouraged,  and  the  smouldering  fires  of  curiosity  burst 
into  flames  of  resolve. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  ventured,  at  last,  to  the  girl, 
"but  have  you  seen  two  young  ladies  enter  this  building? 
They  wore  no  glasses,"  he  added,  u  and  1  thought  you 
mijrht  have  noticed  them." 

O 

The  girl  moved  away  a  step  and  answered,  "  No,  I  have 
not." 

"  I  was  to  have  met  them  at  five,"  he  went  on. 

u  Indeed  ?  "   said  the  lady. 

"On  the  steps  of  the  Library,"  Roulhac  continued. 

"  Then  they  are  probably  waiting  there.  That  is  the 
Library,  across  the  Square."  She  could  not  resist  a  smile. 

Braghampton  caught  at  the  smile  and  ignored  the 
information. 

"  I  am  very  stupid,"  he  remarked. 

[177] 


LADT   M EC H ANTE 


The  girl  said  nothing. 

Roulhac  was  now  at  his  wit's  end  to  prolong  the  con 
versation.  "I  am  afraid  it  may  be  incipient  aphasia,"  he 
said,  after  a  pause,  without  any  sign  of  departing. 

The  girl  seemed  uninterested  in  his  diagnosis,  but  evi 
dently  demurred.  "  It  is  undoubtedly  nothing  but  an 
obsession,"  she  asserted. 

"  Maybe  you  are  right,  for  I  am  a  victim  to  such  com 
plaints.  Indeed,  I  have  another  now,  which  has  replaced 
the  original  occupant  of  my  mind." 

The  lady  kept  her  silence,  and  looked  across  at  the 
towers  of  Trinity  Church. 

"  I  am  strongly  under  the  impression  that  I  know  you," 
was  Roulhac's  next  move. 

"  That  is  an  illusion,  delusion,  or  misconception,"  she 
said,  without  turning  her  head.  She  walked  slowly  down 
the  stone  steps. 

"  Don't  you  believe  in  intuition  ?  "  he  insisted,  following 
her. 

She  turned  to  him  angrily.  "  I  do.  I  have  an  intuitive 
knowledge  that  you  are  not  a  gentleman  ! ' 

"  I  lay  no  claim  to  the  term,"  he  replied,  airily ;  "  an 
honest  man  is  the  noblest  work  of  God  !  " 

"  Honest  !  "  she  said,  scornfully.  "  I  beg  you  to  leave 
me.  If  you  say  another  word  to  me,  I  shall  call  that  police 
man  on  the  corner." 

"Then  I  shall  be  obliged  to  opine  that  you  are  unable 
to  answer  my  argument,"  said  Braghampton.  "  I  was  told 
that  in  Boston  women  were  not  beautiful,  but  intellectual. 
Must  you  shatter  both  beliefs  at  once  ?  " 

There  was  enough  subtlety  in  this  to  make  the  maiden 
pause,  despite  her  obvious  reluctance  to  a  continuation  of 


A   FLIRTATION  IN  COPLEY   SQUARE 


the  scene.  She  looked  him  over  deliberately.  u  You  are 
from  the  West,  I  presume.  Is  it  usual,  in  your  native 
place,  for  men  to  accost  haphazard  any  lady  they  may 
chance  to  meet  ?  Pray  discontinue  this  annoyance.  I  am, 
as  you  see,  awaiting  a  friend  here,  and  I  don't  care  to  miss 
the  appointment  on  your  account." 

"  If  you  will  answer  me  one  question,  I  promise  to  ac 
cept  my  dismissal,"  said  Braghampton. 

Miss  Hattitude  hesitated,  but  the  temptation  was  alluring. 
Her  pause  betrayed  her.  It  was  the  fraction  of  a  second 
too  long.  She  saw  this  too  late,  cast  down  her  eyes,  and 
said,  "  Proceed  !  " 

"  Tell  me  then,"  said  Roulhac,  "  if  I  were  a  new  arrival 
from  the  planet  Mars,  or  Venus,  unused  to  your  manners 
and  customs,  would  you  be  equally  willing  to  deny  me  free 
speech  with  you  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Miss  Hattitude.  "I  must  say,  I  could 
hardly  resist  your  insistence,  in  that  case.  Are  you  from 
Mars  ?  " 

"  I  am  from  as  strange  a  country,"  he  proceeded.  "  To 
all  intents  and  purposes,  I  am  as  much  an  alien  to  your 
civilization.  It  happens  that  I  speak  the  same  tongue ; 
but  in  my  land  a  man  dares  be  himself,  and  most  women, 
also.  It  is,  if  I  remember  rightly,  90,000,000  miles  to  the 
red  planet  —  " 

"  It  is  nearer  140,000,000,  at  present,"  interrupted  the 
lady. 

u  So  be  it.  It  is  only  3500  miles  to  the  Pacific.  The 
ratio  is  no  doubt  inadequate,  yet  I  am  curious  to  know 
where  you  draw  the  line  of  conventionality.  I  am  as 
anxious  to  make  your  acquaintance  as  any  Martian  could 
be,  I  assure  you.  We  are  total  strangers  to  each  other, 

['79] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


but,  by  your  own  admission,  that  should  encourage  rather 
than  deny  acquaintance.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  less  you 
know  of  me,  the  more  anxious  you  should  be  to  make 
friends  with  me.  I  assert  my  originality.  I  swear  I  am 
unlike  any  man  you  have  ever  met  betore.  By  a  parity  of 
reasoning,  I  am  eligible.  If  I  am  not  a  gentleman,  I  have 
at  least  frankness,  unconvcntionality,  and  courage.  Does- 
such  an  amicable  alliance  disturb  your  ideas  of  decorum  ? 
Think  for  yourself,  I  beg  of  you.  Tell  me  any  reason  why 
you  should  fear  me." 

u  I  am  afraid  I  am  already  compromised,"  confessed  the 
girl,  overbalanced  by  his  torrential  rhetoric.  "  I  feel  sure 
that  your  logic  is  mere  casuistry,  yet  it  carries  you  so  far 
afield,  I  can't  help  being  amused  at  your  fallacy.  The 
manners  of  the  West  must  be  more  interesting  than  I  have 
been  taught.  Yet  you  say  you  are  unique —  " 

u  My  point  of  view  is  almost  Japanese  in  its  incongruity, 
but  I  hold  to  the  Romantic  aspect  of  life.  I  was  taught 
in  a  good  school  to  regard  every  woman  as  a  dramatic 
possibility." 

"  You  touch  me  on  a  sensitive  nerve,"  said  Miss  Hatti- 
tude,  "  and  again  I  must  respond  reflexively.  If  you  are 
indeed  of  the  extraordinary  sensitiveness  of  the  Japanese  — 
if  you  can  see  life  as  the  color  prints  show  it,  without  sharps 
or  flats,  as  I  might  say,  then  you  are  indeed  worth  knowing. 
I  have  spent  many  months  in  this  very  building  seeking  to 
understand  their  conception  of  art." 

"  It  is  simple,"  said  Braghampton.  "  I  feel,  rather  than 
understand,  the  method.  It  is  entirely  a  question  of  com 
position.  If  you  hold  a  frame  before  any  collection  of 
objects,  it  must  become  pure  pattern.  Conventionalize  this, 
place  it  in  its  true  position  with  regard,  not  to  the  environ- 

[180] 


A    FLIRTATION  IN  COPLEY   SQUARE 


ment,  but  to  the  frame,  and  you  have  motive,  composition, 
design.  It  is  thus  that  I  regard  you  ;  I  hold  up  my  frame 
and  disconnect  you  from  your  surroundings  of  Boston 
haughtiness  and  conventionality.  You  are  an  intricate  and 
interesting  study.  You  have  line,  color,  and  notan.  It  is 
thus  that  the  man  from  Mars  would  perceive  you.  He 
would  miss  the  accidental  shadows  of  tradition  and  estab 
lishment,  he  would  see  you  yourself,  disfranchized  from 
Society,  a  person.  In  that  lay  all  my  audacity.  The 
affront,  if  any,  was  offered  to  your  family,  set,  position  — 
you  yourself  escaped  the  impertinence." 

"  The  Japanese  are  undoubtedly  a  hundred  years  ahead 
of  us  in  their  conception  of  Art,"  said  Miss  Hattitude. 
"  Am  I  to  infer  then  that  your  system  is  equally  advanced  ? 
But  you  contravene  Emerson,  however,  for  does  he  not  say 
that  when  one  separates  any  object  from  the  connection 
of  things  and  contemplates  it  alone,  it  becomes  at  once 
comic?  " 

"  I  refer  you  to  Korin,"  said  Roulhac  Braghampton, 
"but,  were  I  to  quote  your  own  sage,  I  might  say  that  you, 
at  least,  have  not  answered  his  own  definition  of  the  comic 
—  '  frustrated  expectation.' ' 

"  I  verily  believe  you  are  from  Mars,"  Miss  Hattitude 
exclaimed.  "  At  least  I  cannot  hear  the  hinges  of  the 
Golden  Gate  creak  in  your  conversation  !  " 

u  I  am  from  Nowhere,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  if  you  will 
accompany  me  to  my  home  for  the  afternoon,  I  will  present 
to  you  the  freedom  of  the  city  !  " 

"I  have  committed  myself,"  bewailed  Miss  Hattitude. 
"  You  have  been  too  agile.  I  will  reward  you.  We 
shall  walk,  not  to  Nowhere,  but  as  far  as  the  Leif  Ericson 
statue,  and  from  there  you  may  take  me  home.  But 

[181] 


LADT  MECHANTE 


you  will  think  me  as   little  a   Bostonian   as  you   are  a  San 
Franciscan." 

"  I  hope  to  convince  you  that  you,  on  the  contrary, 
belong  Everywhere,"  said  the  youth,  as  he  crossed  the 
street  with  her. 


Cfjapter  Jftoe 


MISS    MISCHIEF'S    MEDIUMSHIP 

One  fit  of  our  own  mirth,  and  then  we  are  for  you. 

(The  Bloody  Brother.) 

O  a  person  of  Roulhac  Braghampton's 
temper,  all  was  fish  that  came  to  the  net. 
In  his  amatory  duellos  with  members  of 
the  passive  sex,  he  was,  as  the  challenger, 
always  willing  to  leave  to  his  opponent  the 
choice  of  weapons,  and  these  he  flourished 
with  a  natural  dexterity  that  usually  brought  him  victory. 
Having  trapped  Miss  Hattitude's  guard,  he  lost  no  time  in 
forcing  home  the  point  of  his  charge,  and  she  soon  cried, 
u  touche"  Needless  to  say,  however,  it  was  not  so  much 
Hetty  Hattitude's  heart  that  was  touched  as  her  head,  and, 
as  Roulhac  felt,  that  was  the  more  to  his  credit.  Her 
appeal,  in  short,  had  been  from  Philip  drunk  to  Philip 
sober,  and  the  inconsequential  trifler  hardly  knew  himself 
in  the  new  part. 

The  acquaintance  with  the  Stencills  was  also  main 
tained,  although  Roberta's  pose  was  one  of  steady  disap 
proval.  She  found  the  rogue  ingenuous  and  entertaining, 
but,  her  first  trust  having  gone  astray,  she  treated  him  with 
scant  favor.  Mortimer,  on  the  other  hand,  gave  the 
young  man  his  frank  sympathy,  swallowing  his  shameless 
recitals  with  the  appetite  of  one  who  has  to  act  all  his 
most  romantic  and  fanciful  adventures  in  the  back  attic  of 


LADT   M ECU ANTE 


his  own  brain,  Mr.  Stencill  was  very  much  in  love  with 
his  wife,  but  what  he  might  have  been,  had  he  not  married, 
he  knew  well;  and  it  was  the  devil-and-all,  to  be  sure! 

And  where  did  Roulhac  Braghampton's  money  come 
from  ?  He  himself  proclaimed  that  it  was  a  rich  aunt  who 
provided  his  revenue,  and  that  it  was  her  whim  for  her 
nephew  to  enjoy  himself.  "  Do  anything  you  like,"  he 
said  she  said,  "except  be  commonplace  and  respectable. 
Behold,  T  send  you  forth  as  an  emissary  of  gayety  to  the 
nations.  Let  it  be  your  task  to  amuse  the  world,  and 
paint  this  drab  Universe  a  second  coat  more  vivid  and 
jocose.  Here  be  too  few  fools  to  go  round,  what  with  the 
emancipation  of  women  and  hygienic  underwear!  The 
world  needs  an  occasional  laugh  as  much  as  any  other 
remedy,  and  do  you  divert  the  Philistine  and  Bohemian 
alike  !  "  The  vivacious  old  lady,  according  to  his  legend, 
died  of  laughter,  after  dreaming  that  she  was  trying  to  tie 
a  cannon-ball  to  a  log  with  six  shoestrings. 

His  income,  at  any  rate,  enabled  Roulhac  to  put  on  a 
good  front  in  Society,  and  lined  with  gold  his  misfit 
manners.  He  endured  an  ordeal  at  dinner  with  Herod 
Hattitude,  Esq.,  and  family  with  an  easy  grace  and  with 
a  certain  distinction.  He  did,  to  be  sure,  warn  the  children 
never  to  put  chewing-gum  in  the  stew,  nor  idly  stuff  cheese 
in  their  ears,  but  he  himself  neither  ate  his  soup  with  a 
sponge  nor  called  too  loudly  for  butter  in  his  tea.  He  once 
absent-mindedly  took  his  knife  to  the  folded  and  starched 
napkins,  cutting  the  leaves  of  linen  as  if  the  serviette  had 
been  a  pamphlet,  but  from  such  solecisms  as  this  he  could 
recover  himself  easily  and  drown  the  blunder  in  a  jest. 
His  language  was  slangy,  or,  let  us  say,  poetic;  but  it  was 
never  ungrammatical.  When  his  lips  were  unstoppered 

[  iH] 


MISS   MISCHIEF'S   MEDIUMSHIP 


of  the  plug  of  propriety,  he  used  his  native  tongue  with 
the  abandon  of  Ben  Jonson,  and  his  tropes  budded  and 
flowered  with  equatorial  profusion. 

To  Hetty  Hattitude  the  young  man  was,  indeed,  from 
another  sphere,  and  she  took  a  sharp  relish  in  his  piquant 
personality.  He  was  not  one  to  be  "taken  up"  or  she 
would  have  produced  him  at  the  houses  of  her  friends.  It 
is  needless  to  say  that  he  did  not  make  her  acquainted  with 
his  mission  in  Boston,  and  she  gave  her  relatives  to  under 
stand  that  Mr.  Braghampton  was  a  gentleman  who,  to  pass 
away  the  time,  was  dallying  through  courses  in  the  Harvard 
Medical  School. 

This  was  his  status  when,  one  morning  in  April, 
Roulhac  was  discovered  by  a  small  bluish  envelope  con 
taining  a  note  in  a  bold  ultra-feminine  hand,  signed  Hetetia 
Hattitude.  It  ran,  at  the  rate  of  about  six  words  to  the 
page,  as  follows  : 

"  If  you  have  nothing  to  do  this  afternoon,  my  dear  Air.  Brag- 
hampton,  I  would  be  very  glad  to  have  you  accompany  me  to  a 
meeting  or  seance  which  may  prove  sufficiently  interesting  to  keep 
you  awake.  Please  come,  or  answer  before  eight  o'clock."'' 

Roulhac  had  already  done  a  turn  or  two  in  maddest 
Boston.  He  had  succeeded  in  obtaining  an  invitation  to 
the  Thursday  Evening  Club,  and  he  had  listened  to  ex 
cruciating  papers  on  u  Tendencies,"  of  sorts,  at  the  Twen 
tieth  Century.  The  Visionists  were  gone,  but  Mr. 
Braghampton  was  invited  to  the  Wassail  Club,  a  society 
of  Boston's  most  timorously  radical,  which  had  arisen 
from  the  remains  of  the  older  association.  His  initia 
tion  had  been  completed  with  storms  of  applause  and 


LADT   MECHANTE 


floods  of  beer,  and,  having  so  successfully  fulfilled  the  or 
deal  in  the  Italian  restaurant  affected  by  these  precocious 
disciples  of  the  Decadence,  he  made  friends  with  the  Grand 
Prior  of  the  Order  of  the  White  Rose,  and  strutted,  talk 
ing  wildly  of  Bonnie  Prince  Charlie,  of  the  Restoration  and 
of  the  glorious  virtues  of  the  House  of  Stuart,  drinking  to 
His  Most  Gracious  Majesty  the  King  u  over  the  water  "  — 
the  King  who  should  come  by  his  own  again,  thanks  to  the 
efforts  of  the  Clan  —  into  the  last  degree  of  Anglomania, 
that  of  the  feather-headed  Jacobites  of  New  England.  He 
signed  the  telegram  sent  to  Don  Carlos  upon  the  birthday 
of  that  picturesque  pretender,  and  was  even  now  antici 
pating  a  decoration  —  who  knows  but  a  title?  —  from  the 
rightful  King  of  Spain  and  the  Two  Americas.  From 
this  sublime  height  of  fancy  the  drop  to  the  Author's 
Club  had  landed  him  in  the  Commonplace,  but  he  ex 
changed  the  epigrammatists  of  the  one  for  the  abolitionists, 
type-worn  heroes,  and  pretty  poetesses  of  the  other  with  a 
good  grace. 

He  hardly  looked,  then,  for  great  sensations  at  the  prom 
ised  seance,  but  he  had  determined  never  to  miss  an  oppor 
tunity  for  investigating  the  intellectual  mazes  of  Boston's 
immemorial  activity.  He  despatched  a  messenger  to  warn 
Miss  Hattitude  of  his  compliance,  whistled  his  way,  to  the 
tune  of  "  The  Rose  that  All  are  Praising,"  into  a  long  black 
coat,  painted  the  cracks  in  his  patent  leather  shoes  with 
India  ink,  and  set  out  for  the  West  End,  willing  enough 
to  meet  his  "  Perfecto,"  as  he  already  called  her,  though  but 
slightly  intrigued  with  the  prospect  of  psychic  adventure. 

The  house  to  which  Hetty  took  him  was  upon  West 
Cedar  Street.  It  was  a  three-story  brick  structure,  flat 
sidewalk,  of  an  old-fashioned  plan,  with 


prim  upon 


186] 


MISS   MISCHIEF'S   MEDIUMSHIP 


a  sloping  slate  roof  and  two  small  dormers  thereon.  They 
opened  the  storm  door  and  went  up  into  the  porch  stairway 
to  a  white  door  upon  which  was  a  nickeled  plate  bearing 
the  inscription,  "  T.  Gray." 

The  two  visitors  were  admitted  and  went  upstairs  into  a 
front  parlor  with  long  mirrors  and  red  velvet  furniture, 
originally  of  good  make  and  design,  but  reupholstered  in 
horrid  taste  and  woolly  fringe.  Here  they  found  Mrs. 
Burlap  filling  the  apartment  with  patronage.  Mr.  Brag- 
hampton  was  introduced  to  the  Queen  of  Boston,  and  she 
gave  him  two  fingers  of  a  black  glove.  Beside  her  Mrs. 
Essery  loomed,  as  if  she  had  been  built  in  the  room  and  was 
waiting  to  be  crated. 

"  If  I  am  not  mistaken,"  began  Mrs.  Burlap,  "  we  are  to 
witness  some  interesting  developments,  Mr.  Braghampton. 
The  young  lady  who  is  to  play  the  medium  is  an  amateur, 
and  she  has  never  given  seances  in  public.  We  are  wait 
ing  only  for  the  President  of  the  Society  for  Psychical  Re 
search,  so  as  to  have  the  affair  witnessed  in  proper  form. 
The  room  has  been  accurately  measured,  the  carpet  has 
been  inspected,  and  we  are  to  have  flash-light  photographs 
taken  of  the  place.  We  go  at  these  things  scientifically 
in  Boston,  you  know.  We  are  too  near  the  Twentieth 
Century  to  investigate  psychical  phenomena  in  any  hit-or- 
miss  spirit.  There  is  no  knowing  what  may  come  of  this. 
I  intend  to  write  a  report  of  the  proceedings  myself,  what 
ever  happens.  You  understand,  of  course,  that  in  the  study 
of  modern  mysticism  what  does  not  happen  is  of  as  much  im 
portance  as  what  does  happen.  We  must  compile  statistics 
and  collate  all  the  information  that  is  obtainable.  We  have 
learned  much  from  seances  that,  to  the  lay  mind,  would  ap 
pear  to  be  entirely  unsuccessful.  We  are  computing  aver- 


LADT   MECHANTE 


ages  and  attempting  to  prove  the  possibilities  and  chances 
of  extra-natural  manifestations  all  along  the  line.  I  have 
sent  out  over  four  thousand  return  postal-cards  requesting 
answers  upon  the  subject  of  u  Semi-Nudity  in  Dream" 
a  very  suggestive  field  for  research,  I  assure  you.  If  you 
will  be  kind  enough  to  give  me  your  address,  I  shall  be 
glad  to  send  you  one,  and  have  you  fill  out  the  answers  to 
the  questions  at  your  leisure/' 

"I   shall  be  charmed,"   was   Mr.   Braghampton's   reply. 
"  But  could  you  tell  me  who  is  to  be  the  medium  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  Miss  Mischief,  an  Englishwoman,  I  believe  ; 
someone  that  Miss  Hattitude  discovered.  The  remarkable 
part  of  her  manifestations  is  that  she  does  not  believe  in 
them  herself.  She  maintains  that  they  are  all  rubbish  - 
fancy  !  rubbish  !  I  take  that  as  a  better  indication  of  sin 
cerity  than  even  the  measuring  of  the  room  ;  though  that, 
of  course,  if  we  are  to  proceed  scientifically,  is  absolutely 
necessary.  But  here  she  comes,  now." 

Roulhac  Braghampton  looked  up  as  the  folding  doors 
opened  and  the  medium  entered.  Her  coming  drew  the 
other  eyes  also,  and  they  did  not  see  the  expression  that 
came  over  the  young  man's  face.  He  was,  for  the  mo 
ment,  quite  off  his  guard,  and  the  figure  appeared  like  an 
apparition.  It  was  as  if  he  had  drawn  first  prize  in  a  lot 
tery  when  he  looked  and  saw  this  lady  in  blue  cloth,  this 
lady  with  the  warm  red  hair  coiled  over  her  brow,  smiling, 
equal  to  the  occasion,  superb  of  poise,  fragrant  with  gentil 
ity,  radiating  an  engaging  personality.  It  was  the  woman 
of  his  dream,  she  who  had  bedeviled  him  in  California, 
whom  he  had  seen,  known,  loved,  and  followed  through  a 
whole  winter's  delirious  escapades.  It  was  Kitty  Carmine, 
it  was  Cicely  Fex,  it  was  the  Countess  Rouge,  it  was  Ce- 

[188] 


MISS   MISCHIEF'S   MEDIUMSHIP 


lestine  Jewburg  —  still  in  blue,  still  with  her  eyes  of  lambent 
ardor,  winsome,  electric,  compelling! 

Her  glance  traveled  quickly  around  the  room  until  it 
met  that  of  Roulhac,  who  sat  trepid  and  entranced.  Then 
quickly  she  tossed  her  eyes  upward  to  the  ceiling  and  down 
again. 

It  was  a  sign  and  warning.  It  was  a  part  of  their  old 
code,  one  of  a  set  of  secret  messages  she  had  taught  him 
when  they  ran  together  on  the  great  hypnotic  hunt  in  San 
Francisco.  It  meant  "  Do  not  recognize  me  !  "  and  he 
obeyed  as  of  old.  But  his  hands  were  clenched  and  he 
trembled  as  if  a  cold  wave  had  struck  him. 

She  was  introduced  to  the  company,  which  now  numbered 
almost  a  dozen  persons,  including  the  President  of  the  So 
ciety  for  Psychical  Research  with  his  notebooks  and  foot 
rule.  And  then,  seating  herself  in  an  armchair,  Lady 
Mechante  laid  her  right  hand  to  her  eyes  and  remained 
quiescent. 

The  room  was  hushed  and  seemed  full  of  floating  wings. 
The  President  looked  at  his  watch  and  set  down  the  hour 
and  minute.  Mrs.  Burlap  silently  drew  ofY  her  glove  and 
counted  the  number  of  gas  jets,  collecting  data  for  her  re 
port.  Miss  Hattitude  took  the  scene  more  easily,  with  no 
professional  duties  to  complicate  her  observation  ;  yet,  as  a 
woman,  she  could  not  help  noting  the  costume  of  Miss 
Mischief,  and  balancing,  mentally,  its  faults  and  successes. 
Roulhac  was  in  a  stupor  of  astonishment,  yet  he  braced 
himself,  knowing  that  what  was  to  come  might  well  need 
his  assistance. 

u  It  is  very  dark,"  came  in  measured  tones  from  the  lips 
of  Miss  Mischief.  "  It  is  dark,  with  rolling  clouds.  I  am 
being  borne  upward  and  outward,  and  the  globe  recedes.  It 

[189] 


LADY   M EC H ANTE 


is  cold,  as  cold   as    Labrador.      Someone    is    calling   me  — 
'  Phryko  !    Phryko  ! '      It  is  very  dark.      Now  it  is   lighter, 
with  a  warm  red  light.     It  is  the  moon  ;  it  is  a   red,  round 
rolling  moon,  cut  all   criss-cross   with   little   lanes.      I    see 
more  clouds.      I  am  falling,  falling,  falling!  " 

Suddenly  she  sat  up,  with  her  eyes  open  and  staring  at 
the  wall.  u  Oiv  mu  nishoram  !  "  she  cried  aloud,  and  then 
she  laughed.  "  What  funny  people !  "  she  said,  as  if  to 
herself.  u  They  have  three  legs  !  See  !  They  are  talking 
with  their  toes  !  "  Then  she  stood  up  and  spoke  with  the 
grand  air,  "  Yes,  I  am  Phryko  !  " 

She  took  a  step  forward,  unsteadily,  as  if  she  too  had 
three  legs  and  was  a  bit  unused  to  managing  them.  She 
made  a  strange  gesture  with  her  head,  as  if  she  were  rubbing 
out  a  chalk  mark  with  her  chin.  Mrs.  Burlap  and  the 
President  looked  with  all  their  eyes. 

The  President  had  trained  himself  to  write  without 
watching  the  paper.  He  could  write  in  the  dark,  write 
inside  his  pocket,  write  on  top  of  his  head.  He  needed  all 
these  accomplishments  in  his  business,  for  ghosts  give  no 
favors  to  the  unprepared. 

As  for  Roulhac,  he  could  make  no  method  out  of  this 
gibberish,  but  he  knew  that  his  heroine  was  not  the  person 
to  act  aimlessly. 

Her  next  move  was  to  clasp  her  forehead  with  her  hand 
and  call  hysterically  for  a  pencil.  The  President  was,  of 
course,  prepared,  and  overjoyed  at  the  prospect  of  securing 
documentary  evidence  from  the  somnambulist,  which  he 
might  be  able  to  have  reproduced  and  printed  in  the  Report 
of  the  Society.  He  handed  her  an  extra  pencil  and  leaned 
over  her  shoulder  anxiously,  as  she  wrote  a  line  of  strange 
characters. 


MISS   MISCHIEF'S   MEDIUMSHIP 


She  continued  with  the  rude  sketches  of  queer  three- 
legged  animals,  their  noses  in  the  air,  and  under  the  whole 
she  wrote  : 

"  Ow  mu  nisboram.     Pbryko." 

There  was  much  more  dumb  show  of  the  same  sort,  a 
mouthful  or  so  of  her  outlandish  gobble,  a  weird  gesture, 
and  then  the  clouds  came  back,  she  rose,  pierced  the  dark, 
beheld  another  sphere,  and  fell  with  all  the  symptoms  of  ex 
treme  nausea.  All,  that  is,  save  one.  Then  she  opened  her 
eyes  in  a  babyfied  stare  and  smiled  at  the  company. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  "  she  said.  "  Why  are  you  all  looking 
at  me  so  queerly  ?  What  have  I  been  saying  ?  " 

After  drinking  a  glass  of  water  she  shook  her  hands  to 
bring  the  blood  back  to  her  fingers  and  smiled  again. 

The  audience,  fascinated  at  the  pantomime,  now  broke 
into  a  babbling  chorus,  and  Mrs.  Burlap  and  the  President 
began  exchanging  notes. 

"  I  forgot  to  take  her  pulse  and  her  temperature,"  he  said, 
"  but  it  was  very  remarkable,  very.  Most  extraordinary. 
A  most  susceptible  and  delicate  medium.  A  most  interest 
ing  case.  Most  interesting.  Very  different.  Very.  This 
seance,  I  think,  Mrs.  Burlap,  can  hardly  be  classed  with  any 
of  the  three  hundred  and  fifty-three  we  have  investigated.  I 
must  say  I  am  at  a  loss  what  to  make  of  it.  Glossalalia, 
too  !  Ah,  that  is  rare  good  fortune.  Pronounced  type  of 
glossalalia.  I  shall  carefully  analyze  her  words  and  the 
diagrams.  Singular,  very.  Very  singular,  indeed  f" 

Mrs.  Burlap  had  been  lost  in  thought,  posed  like  Michael 
Angelo's  David.  She  turned  and  replied  :  u  It  certainly  is 
a  most  interesting  case,  as  you  say.  I  have  no  doubt  but 
that  it  will  prove  to  be  of  transcendent  importance. 


LADT   MECHANTE 


"  My  child,"  she  continued,  turning  to  Miss  Mischief, 
u  is, it  possible  that  you  have  no  idea  of  the  importance  of  the 
power  you  have  manifested  ?  Really,  you  know,  you  have 
psychic  impulses  that  are  denied  to  nine  hundred  and  ninety- 
nine  out  of  a  thousand.  As  you  develop,  as  you  undoubt 
edly  must,  you  will,  no  doubt,  be  able  to  bring  to  our 
knowledge  marvelous  truths  undreamed  of  before  !  You 
must  let  me  take  you  under  my  wing,  my  dear  Miss  Mis 
chief,  really,  I  insist  !  You  will  do  me  a  great  honor, 
really.  Your  manifestations  were  most  remarkable." 

Miss  Mischief  made  a  little  mouth  and  said  :  "  Now,  my 
dear  Mrs.  Burlap,  really,  you  know,  I'm  afraid  it's  all 
twaddle  and  poppycock.  I  don't  know  what  I  did  say,  but 
it  must  have  been  very  silly.  I  Ve  had  these  queer  feelings 
ever  since  I  was  a  child,  and  I  am  sure  there's  nothing  in 
them." 

"  Upon   my   word,"  cried  the  President.      "  Is  that   so, 
really  !  "      And   he  immediately  wrote   it  down  in  his  note 
book. 

"  Ever  since  I  can  remember  I  have  slipped  off  into  these 
queer  dreams  and  seen  curious  things,"  she  continued, 
"but  nothing  ever  came  of  it." 

Roulhac  Braghampton  was  listening  with  all  his  might. 
Hetty  Hattitude  was  talking  to  him,  but  he  heeded  it  no 
more  than  one  might  heed  a  typewriter's  rattle.  No  doubt 
it  meant  something,  but  his  mind  was  elsewhere.  His 
mind  was  upon  the  girl  in  the  blue  waist,  who  had  turned 
San  Francisco  upside  down  and  danced  on  its  prostrate 
dignity. 

"  But,  my  dear  !  "  Mrs.  Burlap  was  saying,  almost  indig 
nant  at  the  waste  of  so  many  of  Miss  Mischief's  trances. 
"  My  dear  !  Nothing  ever  came  of  it  ?  That  was  because 

[192] 


MISS   MISCHIEF'S   MEDIUMSHIP 


there  has  been  no  one  intelligent  enough  to  investigate  your 
case  !  We  shall  leave  no  stone  unturned,  I  assure  you. 
You  are  in  the  right  hands  now,  and  you  must  promise  to 
give  seances  to  no  one  else  !  " 

She  turned  to  the  President  of  the  Society,  and  the  two 
compared  notes.  Roulhac  and  Miss  Hattitude  went  up 
and  spoke  to  Miss  Mischief. 

"  We  've  been  no  end  amused,"  said  Hetty. 

u  Oh,  if  you  like  this  sort  of  thing,"  said  the  medium, 
coldly,  with  an  eye  on  Braghampton,  "  we  can  keep  you 
busy.  You  are  a  stranger,  are  you  not,  Mr.  Braghampton  ? 
So  I  think  Mrs.  Burlap  told  me." 

"  Yes,  it  seems  that  I  am  a  stranger,"  he  admitted,  eyeing 
her  in  his  turn.  u  But  I  hope  to  become  better  acquainted 
with  the  town  and  its  people.  I  have  been  much  edified, 
Miss  Mischief.  This  has  given  me  much  food  for  thought." 

"  Were  you  so  hungry  ?  "  she  said,  slyly.  Miss  Hatti 
tude  had  left  and  was  looking  at  the  drawings. 

"  I  had  been  chewing  on  one  idea  for  twelve  months,'* 
he  replied. 

u  And  it  was  so  indigestible  ?  " 

"  It  was  hard  to  swallow,  that  truth." 

She  touched  his  arm,  and  the  old  thrill  awoke  his  nerves. 

"  Tomorrow,  at  four.  Here  !  "  She  spoke  through  her 
teeth. 

The  colloquy  was  interrupted  by  an  exclamation  from 
Mrs.  Burlap.  u  Stupendous  !  Stupendous  !  "  she  cried. 
She  waved  her  notes  in  the  President's  face.  "  I  see  it 
as  plain  as  daylight  !  And  to  think  I  fancied  those  words 
were  Cymric.  Glossalalia,  indeed  !  Before  a  month  is  over, 
we  shall  have  the  whole  language,  grammar,  prosody,  and 
syntax.  Don't  you  see  ?  She  was  borne  upward,  she  said, 


LADY  MECHANTE 


into  the  dark  and  cold.  The  cold  of  Space  !  What  else, 
indeed?  Then  there  was  a  warm  red  light  —  a  new 
sphere  —  she  thought  it  was  the  moon,  but  was  it  not  cut 
into  little  channels  ?  Then  the  strange  new  language,  the 
grotesque  inhabitants,  with  their  tripedal  anatomy  and  novel 
gestures.  Was  there  ever  anything  plainer?  Can  you 
come  to  any  other  possible  conclusion  ?  Why,  my  dear 
girl,  you  are  a  celebrity ;  this  seance  is  epoch-making  ! 
Who  knows  — who  knows  but  that  through  you  the  most 
marvelous  truths  ever  known  shall  be  revealed  !  " 

"  But  I  don't  understand,"  said  Miss  Mischief,  with  her 
hand  to  her  brow  in  a  puzzled  gesture.  "  What  is  it  ? 
What  have  I  done?" 

u  Done  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Burlap,  "done?  You  have  visited 
Mars  !  You  have  talked  the  Martian  tongue  !  You  have 
drawn  a  picture  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  mysterious  planet!  " 

For  the  fraction  of  a  second  Roulhac  fancied  he  saw  a 
rebellious  smile  struggling  behind  his  friend's  eyes,  attempt 
ing  to  control  her  expression.  Then  an  innocent  gaze  of 
juvenile  bewilderment  filled  them,  and  turned  on  the  illu 
mination  of  incandescent  innocence. 


r^S 

e 


Chapter 

ENT'RACTE 

Is  this  your  zuencb  ?     You  '//  find  her  a  sharp  mistress. 

(The  Lover's  Progress.) 

|N  the  afternoon  following  the  stance,  Roul- 
hac  Braghampton  called  at  West  Cedar 
Street.  He  was  admitted  by  a  gentleman 
in  a  frock-coat  and  a  colored  shirt.  This 
being's  hair  was  parted  extravagantly  on 
one  side,  in  the  manner  affected  by  cheap 
barbers  ;  his  lower  lip  fell  away  from  the  upper  and  disap 
peared  where  his  chin  should  have  been.  He  had  beady 
black  eyes,  a  half-inch  too  close  together,  and  his  figure  was 
constantly  drooping  from  the  erectness  with  which  he  en 
deavored  to  hold  himself.  He  took  Roulhac's  card,  read 
it,  and  then  left  him  in  a  small  dining-room  by  the  door. 

After  a  few  minutes'  wait  the  portiere  was  raised  and 
in  stepped  a  lady  like  an  elfin  sprite,  smiling  and  fantastic 
in  a  blue  kimono  tied  with  a  gay  red  sash.  She  went  up 
to  her  caller,  kissed  him  upon  the  forehead,  and  dropped  to 
a  seat  beside  him  upon  the  haircloth  sofa.  Then  she  cast 
down  her  eyes  and  protruded  a  very  small  silk  sandal 
beneath  her  robe. 

Roulhac  looked  her  up  and  down,  with  what  reproach 
he  could  summon  to  his  eyes,  and  said,  gloomily,  u  Well, 
and  who  are  you  now  ?  " 


LADT   MECHANTE 


"  Miss  Madelaine  Mischief,  at  your  service  !  "  was  the 
reply. 

"And  what  has  become  of  the  Countess  Rouge?"  he 
demanded. 

u  You  murdered  her  with  your  insistence,"  said  the  lady. 

u  And  Cicely  Fex,  and  Kitty  Carmine,  and  all  the  rest?" 
he  said. 

"  Poisoned,"  she  replied,  "  by  your  love.  Poor  Peanut  ! 
Can  you  not  understand  that  I  am  made  for  love  but  not  for 
loving?  You  frightened  me.  You  are  too  inflammable; 
I  feared  an  explosion." 

"  I  love  you,  yes,"  said  the  young  man.  "  Heaven  help 
me  !  " 

"  Oh,  some  other  woman  is  more  likely  to  do  that"  said 
Miss  Mischief.  "  You  have  a  good  constitution,  and  it 
will  be  easily  amended." 

u  Have  I  followed  you  three  thousand  five  hundred  miles 
to  hear  you  taunt  me  like  this  ?  "  inquired  the  unfortunate 
youth. 

"  You  have  not  followed  me,  for  I  came  the  other  way. 
I  have  been  playing  horse  with  the  court  of  Korea.  The 
Emperor  used  to  jump  off  his  throne  to  shake  hands  before 
I  got  through  with  him.  Then  I  studied  with  the  Mahat- 
mas  of  India  and  went  to  Persia  to  put  the  followers  of  the 
Bab  through  a  course  of  enlightenment.  No,  you  have  n't 
followed  me,  my  dear  !  If  you  had  n't  broken,  you  might 
have  been  leading  the  cotillion  with  me  yet,  but  you  com 
plicated  things.  I  can't  bear  philandering.  Now  will  you 
be  good  !  " 

u  You  shall  not  fob  me  off  with  your  highfalutin,"  cried 
Roulhac.  u  You  blow  hot  and  blow  cold  ;  you  will  and 
you  won't!  Wherever  you  have  been,  I  have  found  you 


ENTRACTE 


and  tagged   you,  and  you  're  '  it.'      I  love  you  so  hard  it 
hurts  when  I  breathe." 

"  The  light  is  in  your  eyes,  my  dear,  I  dazzle  you,"  she 
said,  softly.  u  Would  you  clip  my  wings  and  cage  me  ? 
Where  would  I  have  been  now  if  I  had  married  you,  for 
I  presume  you  speak  of  marriage  or  its  equivalent  ?  I  have 
no  time  for  that.  Here  in  Boston  is  a  field  so  fertile  that 
we  have  but  to  drop  in  a  seed  of  mirth  and  it  shall  increase 
an  hundred  fold.  The  town  is  wonderful,  wonderful !  My 
word,  I  thought  San  Francisco  to  be  the  veritable  Midway 
Plaisance  of  the  continent,  but  this  city  is  a  madhouse  ; 
the  place  is  already  hypnotized  and  we  need  but  give  it  the 
proper  suggestion.  Ah,  dear,  would  you  sober  me  before 
my  time  and  make  me  sign  the  pledge  ?  Can  you  see  me 
in  a  checked  apron,  frying  steak  and  potatoes  ?  I  am  cook 
ing  a  bigger  pie  than  that,  my  Peanut,  and  all  of  white 
blackbirds.  When  the  pie  is  opened,  they  will  sing,  I 
warrant  you  !  " 

"Whatever  you  are  up  to,"  said  Roulhac,  "can  we  not 
do  it  as  well  together,  and  married  r  " 

"No.  I  have  tried  that  twice  and  I  shall  never  forget 
the  attempt.  My  second  husband  was  a  burglar,  but  not 
even  that  most  romantic  of  professions  could  preserve  the 
illusion.  And  I  must  keep  my  ideals.  I  would  regard 
you  as  a  mere  possibility.  You,  as  a  pencil  sketch,  as  a 
promise,  are  interesting.  Finished  and  inked  in,  you  would 
be  a  bore.  In  three  words,  I  refuse  you.  Now  make  your 
scene  and  have  it  over.  Or,  if  you  will,  embark  with  me 
in  the  shallop  of  nonsense  and  navigate  the  stormy  seas  of 
gayety." 

"  I  'm  thirsty  for  you  and  I  want  to  drink.  There  's  too 
much  froth  on  your  beer.  But  I  '11  wait  a  while  longer, 

[-97] 


LADY   M EC H ANTE 


till  this  pot  begins  to  boil,  and  then  I  warn  you  I  '11  marry 
you  up  the  first  chance  I  get  without  stopping  to  ask 
permission." 

"  Well,  if  you  can  mesmerize  me,  go  ahead  !  " 

"  Now  explain  your  fanfarronade,  and  I  '11  sign  the 
articles." 

"  It 's  simple  enough,"  she  explained.  "  Boston  is  out  for 
more  Culture ;  it  is  shrieking  for  a  New  Word.  It 
demands  a  High  Priestess  and  a  more  modern  terminology. 
It  has  eaten  the  bread  of  Transcendentalism,  Orientalism, 
and  strange  systems  of  religion  and  therapeutics  by  the 
baker's  dozen  and  it  is  hungry  for  more.  Can  you  refuse 
such  an  appetite  ?  There  's  an  intellectual  famine  in  the 
town  and  I  propose  to  feed  the  people.  Not  bread,  but 
cake,  spiced  and  frosted  with  a  new  flavor.  We've  used 
up  the  Ten  Great  Religions  of  this  earth  and  we  must 
exploit  Space  for  a  new  Manifestation.  Now  I  've  struck 
oil  on  the  planet  Mars,  and  the  rest  is  easy." 

u  But  was  n't  your  game  a  bit  lumpy  ?  "  Roulhac  in 
quired.  u  The  thing  seemed  foisted  upon  you.  You 
denied  all  consequence  and  you  declared  the  whole  exhibi 
tion  was  flim-flam.  I  wonder  why  !  " 

"  Trust  me  !  "  said  the  would-be  priestess.  u  I  know  my 
Boston  !  They  won't  stand  for  self-made  genius,  one  must 
be  discovered.  I  've  served  my  apprenticeship  and  I  under 
stand  intellectual  burglary  !  I  got  in  through  the  window 
and  I  '11  go  out  by  the  front  door.  The  thing  is  as  big  as 
the  Common.  We  must  do  lobbying  here  and  get  the 
fashionable  set.  We  must  have  an  esoteric  and  exoteric 
form  ;  we  must  pull  in  the  whole  population.  Rely  upon 
me  for  fine  shading.  I  '11  train  this  city  like  a  pet  monkey 
till  it  eats  out  of  my  hand  !  " 


ENTRACTE 


"  One  more  thing,  first,  then,"  said  Roulhac.  "  Who  is 
this  chap  with  the  head  made  out  of  a  cocoanut,  who  let 
me  in  at  the  door  ?  I  *m  your  leading  man,  or  I  don't  go 
on  the  stage.  That  man  with  his  mouth  open  and  the 
fingers  like  Frankfurters  is  a  new  one  on  me  !  I  don't 
like  the  taste  of  him." 

"  The  idea  !  Afraid  of  that  stool-pigeon  ?  Why,  Guy 
Bounder's  in  my  kindergarten,  and  you've  taken  your 
degree  !  " 

"  My  education  is  not  completed  till  he  's  lost,  my  Count 
ess,  and  you  can  sew  a  button  on  that !  "  Roulhac  tapped 
his  foot. 

"We  need  him  in  our  business  and  we  can't  do  without 
him,  but  he  can  be  shipped  at  a  moment's  notice  when  the 
curtain  goes  down,"  said  the  lady. 

u  Even  as  you  dismissed  me  !  "  remarked  Roulhac, 
bitterly. 

"I  promise  you  he'll  have  an  exit  that  will  match  that 
of  the  Barber's  Second  Brother,"  the  arch-conspirator  de 
clared.  "But  there's  a  man  I  need  more  than  this  apple- 
faced  Cockney,  and  that 's  a  man  with  wit  and  imagination 
who  can  see  the  under  side  of  a  joke  and  show  me  the 
stitches.  You  're  willing,  but  you  're  not  up  to  these  par 
lor  tricks,  dear  boy.  I  know  how  it  ought  to  be  done, 
but  my  scientific  education  was  neglected.  There  were 
several  in  the  Hypnotic  Club  who  were  intelligent,  but  they 
each  knew  only  one  thing.  What  I  want  is  a  smatterer, 
a  dilettante,  someone  who  can  varnish  the  game  so  as  to 
bring  out  the  high  lights.  Oh,  1  knew  the  man  in  London, 
who  could  give  us  a  twist  of  the  wrist  to  perfection.  He 
was  the  only  interesting  man  within  the  Four  Mile  Radius  ! 
I  came  across  the  Atlantic  with  him,  too  !  " 

[  199] 


LADT  MECHANTE 


Roulhac  stared.     "  Was  he  an  actor  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  He  was,  and  a  bad  one,  too.  But  he  would  have  made 
a  good  ringmaster  if  he  had  n't  been  married." 

"  His  name  was  Stencill !  "  cried  Braghampton. 

"Sac  a  papier!"  ejaculated  the  lady  in  the  kimono. 
u  You  know  him  ?  " 

"  And  I  know  you  !      You  are  Lady  Mechante  !  " 

"  Fifteen,  too,  fifteen  four  !  "  she  replied,  gayly.  "  Now 
for  a  run  of  eight  !  Where  is  he  ?  We  must  have  him, 
dead  or  alive  !  I  '11  put  a  price  on  his  head  ;  we  need  him  !  " 

"  But  he  is  married,"  said  Roulhac. 

u  Alas,  yes,"  said  Lady  Mechante. 

"  And  he  is  therefore  impossible  ?  "  Roulhac  insinuated. 

"  Alas,  no  !  "  was  the  reply.  "  He  loves  his  wife,  indeed, 
and  I  would  that  that  put  him  out  of  the  running.  But 
though  she  is  a  wool-haired  chit  with  eyeglasses,  she  is 
bent  on  having  him  amused.  With  a  jealous  woman  there 
might  be  some  spice  to  the  game,  but  she  is  so  sure  of  him 
that  it  spoils  sport.  Still,  we  must  have  him.  He  has  a 
genius  for  the  picturesque,  except  in  his  views  of  marriage ; 
and  perhaps,  after  all,  that  is  picturesque  nowadays.  He 
has  a  memory,  too,  and  he  knows  more  impracticable 
flim-flam  than  enough.  Why,  he  spent  two  years  studying 
Volapiik,  simply  because  it  could  be  of  no  earthly  use  to 
him  whatever.  He  told  me  of  the  Bab  before  I  went  to 
Persia.  He  's  an  encyclopedia  of  useless  information,  and 
we  must  consult  him.  But  you  must  see  your  partner  first !  " 
And  she  went  to  the  stair  and  whistled. 

In  a  moment  Bounder  entered,  big  in  his  frock-coat  and 
waistcoat,  bowing  pompously.  Lady  Mechante  introduced 
the  two  men. 

"  Guy,"  she  said,  "  this  gentleman  is  from  San  Francisco, 
[  200] 


ENT'RACTE 


and  though  he  parts  his  hair  in  the  middle,  he  is  as  pert  a 
gambolier  as  ever  put  a  town  through  its  paces.  He  's  to 
do  the  outside  fancy  work,  post  the  bills,  and  hobnob  the 
elite.  You  must  be  friends."  To  Roulhac,  writhing  under 
this  description,  she  remarked  :  "  Mr.  Guy  Bounder  of  Lon 
don,  and  you  can't  deny  he  looks  the  part.  He  is  cast  for 
the  heavy  character  work  in  costume.  Turn  your  toes  out, 
Guy,  and  straighten  up  !  Mr.  Bounder  is  to  descend  from 
the  ruddy  planet  and  agitate  society." 

"  That's  what  I  call  Florrididdle,"  said  Guy.  "You 
can  butter  me  all  you  like  after  the  show.  It  's  about  time 
to  talk  business.  My  idea  is,  there's  money  in  this,  and 
that 's  my  specialty.  You  two  can  have  all  the  fun  you 
want,  but  I  'm  for  a  System.  What  is  there  in  it  ?  That's 
what  I  want  to  know." 

"  We  are  in  the  land  where  dollars  grow,"  said  Lady 
Mechante.  "  Do  you  plant  the  trees,  ay,  and  pick  them. 
We  take  the  flowers  and  you  the  golden  fruit.  I  promised 
to  make  your  fortune  and  I  '11  do  it.  Mr.  Stencill  will 
show  us  more  ways  than  one." 

u  What,  another  ?  "  Guy  exclaimed.  "  I  s'pose  he  parts 
his  hair  in  the  middle,  too  !  " 

"  His  wife  parts  it  the  way  it  suits  her  fancy,"  said 
Lady  Mechante. 

u  I  '11  have  a  look  at  that  wife,"  said  Bounder. 

"You'll  be  too  busy  learning  to  walk  on  three  legs  and 
studying  Martian,"  was  the  countercheck. 

u  Oh,  I  say  !  "  cried  Guy.  u  They  've  got  to  pay  me 
for  that,  I  give  you  my  word  !  I  'm  by  way  of  being  the 
clown  in  this  circus,  I  know,  but  it 's  got  to  do  me  in 
something  before  I  'm  through  !  Little  Guy  is  going  to 
saw  wood  in  this  city." 

[201] 


LADY   M EC H ANTE 


Roulhac,  already  disgusted  at  the  Cockney's  appearance, 
felt  his  gorge  rise  at  the  vulgarity  of  such  mercenary  mo 
tives.  The  tip  given  him  by  his  Countess,  however,  re 
minded  him  that,  whatever  Guy  Bounder  was  paid  for  his 
share  of  the  conspiracy,  it  would  not  be  too  much  for  the 
ordeals  he  would  have  to  suffer.  To  the  artist  in  frivolity  the 
whole  scheme  appeared  in  roseate  colors,  a  slim  naked  joke 
which  he  and  the  fair  Countess  would  deck  in  fantastic 
garb  and  set  giggling  in  the  streets  of  Boston,  to  dance 
widdershins  through  the  town.  But  behind  the  plot  they 
were  incubating  in  council,  crouched  a  plan  that  Roulhac 
confided  to  his  heart  alone.  He  had  his  idea.  He  would 
manoeuver  with  the  rest,  twist  the  wiles  and  ruses  of  cun 
ning  to  their  ends,  but  watch  his  chance,  countermine,  and 
spring  his  own  trap  when  the  time  came. 

The  confabulation  ended  with  Bounder's  dismissal  to  his 
studies  of  Martian  idiom  and  manner,  and  the  ex-leaders  of 
the  League  of  Dream  parted  with  an  agreed  rendezvous. 

That  night  Mortimer  Stencill  saw  a  pair  of  animated 
faces  in  a  box  at  Keith's  Theater.  That  night  he  dis 
covered  that  the  fuse  had  reached  the  gunpowder.  That 
night  a  trio  of  triflers  dined  at  the  Restaurant  Slavoni  on 
Harrison  Avenue,  dancing  through  the  anticipation  of  their 
hoax  till  the  gunpowder  ran  out  of  the  heels  of  their  boots. 

And  that  night  Roberta  Stencill,  dozing  over  a  novel  by 
Mrs.  Humphry  Ward,  did  not  hear  the  Warren  Avenue 
door  slam  till  nigh  upon  two  o'clock. 


[202] 


Chapter 

THE  MANIFESTATION  OF  PHRYKO 

And  breed  a  bub  bub  in  the  bouse,   I  am   happy. 

(The  Night  Walker.) 

lOVE,  O  my  story,  now  on  swifter  feet ! 
The  spring  is  wound,  the  balance  regulated  ; 
let  the  wheels  turn  and  the  alarum  strike 
to  awaken  Boston  to  the  Cult  of  Mars  ! 
Lady  Mechante,  with  a  saucy  ambitious 
devil  in  her  eye,  Roulhac  Braghampton  with 
the  Abracadabra  filling  his  mouth,  that  mouth  the  whilom 
engine  but  for  vaunts  and  kisses,  Guy  Bounder  Esquire  with 
his  well-conned  lesson  stuffed  within  his  bulging  skull, 
and  Mortimer  Stencill  now  a  mummer  off  the  stage  —  all 
were  ready,  with  each  a  finger  to  the  trigger,  aiming  at 
Boston's  brains,  awaiting  the  signal  to  blow  them  sky  high, 
as  high  as  Mars!  The  Muse  of  Nonsense  be  my  guide, 
and  thou,  O  Momus,  inspire  my  chronicle  ! 

The  second  and  third  seances,  following  closely  upon  the 
first,  were  but  variations  and  amplifications  of  Miss  Mis 
chief's  primary  state  of  somnambulism.  She  still  denied 
credence  in  the  interpretation  Mrs.  Burlap  had  put  upon 
her  manifestations,  and  that  lady  frothed  with  impatience  at 
the  lack  of  more  definite  messages.  At  the  fourth  meeting, 
however,  Miss  Mischief  came  boldly  forth  as  an  evangel 
and  filled  Mrs.  Burlap's  hopes  to  overflowing. 

[2031 


^Kr 


LADY   MECHANTE 


It  was  a  mixed  gathering  of  society  captains,  reporters, 
skeptics,  and  the  riff- raff  of  vacuous  intellects  that  the  last 
new  word  collects.  The  President  of  the  Society  for  Psy 
chical  Research  was  there  with  eyeglasses,  whiskers,  and 
notebooks,  sniffing  for  data  for  his  report.  It  was  to  be 
Roulhac's  debut,  and  he  waited  a  bit  nervously  for  his  cue. 
The  seance-chamber  had  been  moved,  under  Mortimer 
Stencill's  direction,  to  an  upper  room  with  a  skylight  and 
dormer  windows,  and  here  the  company  assembled  one 
evening  in  March. 

The  apartment  was  a  spacious  one,  papered  with  wrig 
gling  stripes  of  blue  forget-me-nots  that  climbed  the  walls  in 
rows.  The  floor  was  bare,  a  fact  that  pleased  the  President 
mightily.  Into  the  two  dormers  a  haggard  moon  peeped,  and 
shot  a  glance  of  lunacy  at  the  already  preposterous  fancies 
of  the  gathering. 

All  eyes  centred  at  a  cabinet  of  black  cambric,  a  circu 
lar  curtain,  rather,  that  depended  from  a  corner  of  the 
ceiling,  shutting  off  a  portion  of  the  room  in  the  manner 
affected  by  the  devotees  of  Spiritism.  There  was  a  table 
provided  with  pencil  and  paper  for  the  medium,  and  all  else 
was  chairs;  chairs  and  eager,  apprehensive  watchers  sitting 
them  with  expectancy.  With  Roulhac  Braghampton  was 
a  maid  in  brown,  her  eyes  smouldering  as  she  glanced 
secretly  at  her  companion.  Miss  Hattitude  was  already 
alight ;  the  young  man  from  San  Francisco  had  stimulated 
her  curiosity  at  first,  but  with  their  more  and  more  frequent 
meetings  something  more  furious  had  awakened..  It  was  as 
if  she  had  been  waiting  many  years  for  him  and  had  but 
just  caught  sight  of  him  on  the  horizon  of  her  hopes,  riding 
post-haste  into  her  heart.  Women,  according  to  Hafiz,  are 
creatures  of  inertia  ;  once  started,  they  go  far  and  fast. 

[204] 


THE  MANIFESTATION  OF  PHRTKO 


But  Roulhac  was  as  yet  unconscious  of  his  capture  ;  she 
seemed  to  him  still  emotionally  inaccessible,  and  his  mind 
was  too  full  of  Lady  Mechante  to  perceive  that  the  door  to 
Hetty's  heart  was  so  slightly  latched  that  one  knock  might 
open  it. 

At  eight  o'clock  Miss  Mischief  entered  in  a  costume  that 
made  the  ladies  start.  It  was  of  peau  de  soie,  of  a 
periwinkle  blue,  pervaded  with  graduated  spots  in  the 
form  of  small  silvery  stars.  The  bodice,  zouave-shape,  was 
covered  with  string-colored  lace,  and  there  was  a  deeply- 
pointed  corselet  belt  coming  from  a  cleverly-tied  bow  on 
the  bust,  held  in  place  by  a  quaint  paste  ornament.  There 
was  a  delicate  tracery  of  applique  lace  about  the  hips,  and 
she  wore  soft  kid  slippers  of  a  tender  gray. 

All  this  Hetty  Hattitude  saw,  and  Mrs.  Burlap  and  Mrs. 
Essery  saw  also ;  but  to  Roulhae  nothing  was  noticeable 
save  two  blue  eyes  pistoling  him  with  delicious  naughtiness, 
a  swirl  of  hair  the  color  of  fire-lit  smoke,  and  a  mouth  that 
tried  to  be  mutely  sedate,  primly  sober,  tempted  by  a  pair 
of  impertinent  dimples  in  her  cheeks.  He  gazed  at  her  with 
the  intense  fascination  with  which  one  regards  a  lighted 
fuse,  awaiting  the  explosion. 

The  lights  were  lowered  as  she  took  her  seat  by  the  table, 
and  the  murmur  of  whispers  ceased.  The  silence  was  sud 
denly  punctured  by  two  brisk  raps  on  the  ceiling. 

The  medium,  her  head  sunk  in  her  jeweled  hands, 
seemed  asleep.  The  knocks  were  repeated  and  she  looked 
up,  dreamily. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  "    she  asked. 

Rap  by  rap  the  word  "  Phryko  "  was  spelled  out  in  the 
universal  code,  and  the  table  shuddered. 

"  It  is  the  spirit  Phryko,"  announced  the  medium,  "and 

f    20,-    1 


LADY   M  EC  H ANTE 


she  wishes  to  communicate,  through  me.  I  must  go  into 
trance  and  she  will  take  possession  of  my  body  and  make 
her  communication."  So  saying,  she  fetched  a  few  groans 
and  let  her  head  drop  upon  the  table. 

There  was  a  pause  of  several  moments,  after  which  the 
lady's  body  began  to  writhe.  It  was  as  if  someone  were 
attempting  to  force  a  hand  into  a  glove  several  sizes  too 
small.  Phryko  was  evidently  a  misfit  for  the  svelte  form  of 
Miss  Mischief.  But  at  last  the  transmigration  of  souls  was 
effected,  and  the  spirit  Phryko,  ensconced  in  the  flesh  of  this 
tender,  kissable  adventuress,  equipped  with  the  soft,  rich 
cadences  of  Florizelle's  voice,  was  prepared  to  give  her 
message. 

"  O  snurt  in  oro  su  Ingnld  !  "  she  cried  with  rhetorical 
gestures  of  an  unearthly  intensity.  "  Ow  fi  scrim  roo  ingtow 
et  stufinom  uth  ratirog  nishsnipsod  fal  jelun  !  Di  slth  jessum  ! 
rappip  roy  sidnum  rif  thart,  din  willif  slisnok  fal  Phryko  din 
roy  tenilpo  lush  dinif  dirworif  ut  roo  slip  tslngmy  uth  sarfus  !  " 

The  President  of  the  Psychical  Research  Society,  crouch 
ing  by  the  window,  made  eager  notes,  penciling  the  words 
as  well  as  he  could  in  shorthand.  It  sounded  to  him  like 
Esperanto,  but  he  had  no  time  now  for  speculation.  He 
would  strive  with  the  syllables  later.  But  in  his  haste  to 
keep  up  with  the  words  he  had  no  time  to  insert  vowel 
sounds.  Well,  if  worst  came  to  worse,  he  would  fake  them. 
No  one  would  know. 

This  eloquent  Jabberwocky  achieved,  the  spirit  Phryko 
seemed  to  recede,  turning  Miss  Mischief  almost  inside-out 
in  the  withdrawal.  The  process  was  not  too  pleasant,  but 
the  lady  at  last  revived  somewhat  and  forced  a  smile. 

"  I  do  feel  like  a  stick  of  barley-candy,  that  someone  has 
sucked  a  pickled  lime  through  !  "  she  confessed.  The  ten- 

[  206  1 


THE  'MANIFESTATION  OF  PHRTKO 


sity  of  the  excitement  relaxed  at  this  pleasant  simile,  and 
tongues  clucked  in  gossip  over  the  revelation.  It  was  in 
comprehensible —  but  that  did  not  matter,  in  Boston.  It 
was  new  ! 

The  impersonation  of  Phryko  was,  however,  but  the 
overture  to  the  serious  business  of  the  evening.  The  lights 
were  again  lowered  and  Miss  Mischief  went  into  another 
comatose  state.  She  soon  began  to  talk  intelligibly,  to  the 
great  relief  of  her  audience. 

u  I  am  in  a  dense  fog,"  she  began,  "  and  there  is  a  noise 
like  the  celebration  of  a  Chinese  New  Year —  the  explosion 
of  ten  million  fire  crackers,  and  an  odor  to  suit.  I  am 
rising,  floating  through  space — the  world  recedes  —  I  see 
it  now  as  little  as  a  liver  pill,  with  South  America  upside 
down,  pointing  a  thin  triangle  towards  the  Southern  pole  ! 
I  am  passing  the  moon.  It  is  sailing  through  the  darkness 
like  a  fire-balloon.  Now  it  is  cold,  cold  and  black  as  vel 
vet.  My  !  how  the  cold  burns  me  !  There  are  globes  all 
about  me,  they  are  rolling  like  marbles.  This  must  be 
Venus,  shining  like  a  glass  agate,  and  I  feel  the  sun  pulling 
me  towards  its  fires.  I  am  roasted  on  one  side  and  frozen 
on  the  other  !  Oh,  oh,  oh  !  There  is  a  red  globe  coming 
towards  me  —  a  round  red  disc  like  a  big  old-fashioned  one- 
cent  piece,  all  scratched  with  little  lines  !  It  is  growing 
larger  and  larger  —  now  it  is  as  big  as  the  dome  of  the  State 
House!  Now  I  am  falling,  falling  —  I  am  afraid!  It  is 
like  a  dream,  I  am  afraid  that  if  I  don't  wake  up  before 
I  reach  the  ground  I  shall  be  killed  !  AH  !  !  !  "  She 
sprang  up,  and  the  table  shook  convulsively. 

"  It  is  a  new  planet  !  It  is  Mars  !  "  she  explained,  and 
then  spattered  the  room  with  a  shower  of  laughter.  u  What 
funny  people  !  They  have  three  legs  and  no  teeth  !  They 

[207] 


LADT  MECHANTE 


"Larger 
even    more 


stand  on  their  heads  and  wave  their  feet  in  the  air  !  It  is 
like  a  circus.  Their  faces  are  red  —  orange  red,  and  they 
have  no  hair  !  " 

It  was  as  if  she  were  describing  a  painting  that  she  saw 
before  her,  and  the  President  could  not  resist  the  temptation 
to  address  her.  To  him  the  description  seemed  unscien 
tific.  He  desired  verisimilitude.  At  such  investigations 
naked  Truth  shocked  him  ;  it  should  be  clothed  in  figures. 
So  he  interposed  :  "  How  large  are  they,  these  Martians  ? 
As  large  as  I  am,  for  instance  ?  Somewhere,  say,  between 
five  feet  four  and  five  feet  seven  ?  " 

than  you!"  said  the  medium.  "Larger  and 
ugly  !  They  are  examining  their  thumbs,  and 
one  is  separating  them  into  groups.  They  are  in  a  large 
hall,  all  hung  in  orange  red." 

"  This  hall,  how  large  is  it  ?  "  said  the  President.  "  Is 
it  round  or  square  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  large  hall,  about  as  big  as  a  plot  of  ground, 
and  it  is  a  funny  shape  —  the  shape  of  a  half-melted  cara 
mel,"  she  said. 

The  President  writhed,  but  committed  the  information 
to  his  notebook. 

The  medium  continued.  "There  is  a  large  thing  swing 
ing,  like  a  golden  top,  suspended  by  cords,  queerly.  It  is 
marking  diagrams  on  sheets  of  gold.  Here,  I  will  show 
you,"  and  she  scrawled  a  curling  network  of  lines  upon  a 
paper.  The  President  descended  upon  it  like  a  hawk  on 
the  wing. 

"They  speak  a  strange  language,"  she  continued.  "It 
is  like  English  spoken  backward.  And  they  roll,  like  pin- 
wheels,  upon  their  three  legs  and  two  arms.  Now  I  am 
passing  from  the  hall  into  the  open  country.  It  is  flat  and 

[208] 


THE  MANIFESTATION  OF  PHRTKO 


covered  with  rusty  trees.  There  is  a  straight  canyon, 
straight  as  a  ruler,  several  miles  wide,  extending  into  the 
distance." 

"These  are  the  so-called  'canals,'"  murmured  Mrs. 
Burlap  to  Mrs.  Essery,  "only  they  should  be  several  hun 
dreds  of  miles  wide.  No  doubt  this  is  a  secondary  or  ter 
tiary  system,  too  small  for  our  telescopes  to  discover." 

"  I  'd  like  to  ask  her  if  these  beings  are  clothed  or  not," 
replied  Mrs.  Essery.  "  Do  you  know,  I  'm  really  afraid 
to  know.  There  are  disadvantages  in  having  a  mixed 
company  of  both  sexes.  We  really  ought  to  arrange  for  a 
private  seance,  Mrs.  Burlap  !  : 

"Nonsense!"  cried  the  Queen  of  Boston.  "It  is  a 
purely  scientific  investigation,  and,  after  all,  these  Martians 
are  not  strictly  human  beings  at  all.  We  must  regard  them, 
in  a  way,  as  animals." 

"  But  they  are  supposed  to  be  of  a  higher  order  of  intel 
ligence  than  men,  are  they  not  ?  " 

"  I  very  much  doubt  it,"  said  Mrs.  Burlap,  authorita 
tively.  "The  fact  that  they  have  three  legs  is  against 
them.  In  the  processes  of  evolution  fewer  and  fewer 
members  are  needed  as  we  go  up  in  the  scale.  We  are 
higher  beings  than  quadrupeds,  and  the  quadrupeds  higher 
than  sexiped  insects.  And  so  on.  I  would  much  prefer, 
myself,  to  hear  that  Martians  have  but  one  leg.  It  would 
be  far  more  satisfactory." 

During  this  colloquy  Miss  Mischief  had  described  in 
detail  several  peculiarities  of  the  vision.  But,  after  some 
minutes  of  such  talk,  there  was  another  spasm  in  Miss 
Mischief's  frame  like  what  had  preceded  the  usurpation 
of  her  person  by  the  mysterious  Phryko.  Again  she  strug 
gled  in  paroxysms,  and,  as  these  cooled,  she  rose,  with  the 
14  [  209  1 


LADT   M EC H ANTE 


same  chin  gesture,  and  taking  a  step  forward  fixed  a  glassy 
eye  upon  Roulhac  Braghampton.  Slowly  she  extended  her 
hand,  pointing  at  his  nose,  and  cried  aloud  : 

u  Oy  ro  Nishoram  !     Oy  ro  Nisboram  !    Kiwee  !    Kiwee  !  " 

Then,  fainting  with  emotion,  she  fell  to  the  floor.  She 
was  assisted  to  her  seat  by  the  President,  and  attention  was 
divided  between  her  and  the  young  man  so  sensationally 
introduced.  He,  in  his  turn,  shuddered,  and  his  fingers 
twitched  nimbly.  "  What  was  it  ?  "  he  said  to  his  com 
panion.  ,  "  She  looked  through  and  through  me.  I  seem 
to  have  awakened  to  some  kind  of  a  past  consciousness. 
It  is  so  strange,  so  terrible.  There  is  a  queer  feeling  in 
my  legs,  as  if  one  were  missing  !  "  He  looked,  and  as 
sured  himself  that  he  was  still  a  biped. 

Miss  Hattitude's  eyes  bulged  so  with  interest  that  her 
glasses  would  scarce  remain  in  place.  "  Roulhac,"  she 
whispered,  "  Roulhac  !  It  is  true  !  You  are  different !  1 
always  knew  it,  from  the  first  !  You  seem,  as  you  sit  there, 
like  a  god  or  a  prophet  !  Speak,  and  give  us  the  tidings  we 
long  for  !  " 

This  excited  appeal  drew  the  attention  of  all.  Mrs. 
Braxton-Burlap,  polarized  with  the  thrilling  denouement, 
came  up  and  took  his  hand.  Mrs.  Essery  raised  her 
lorgnette  and  scanned  him  more  calmly.  The  President 
bustled  about  him,  like  a  fly  on  a  window-pane. 

"Take  the  seat  there,"  he  insisted.  "Let  us  see  if  you, 
too,  have  not  a  power  over  the  manifestations  of  this  strange 
sphere  !  You  were  clearly  pointed  out  by  Phryko  as  one  of 
the  Cognoscenti !  I  have  it  in  my  notes  ! "  He  drew  the 
unwilling  Braghampton  to  the  chair  by  the  table,  and  Miss 
Mischief,  weak  and  tremulant,  tottered  to  an  armchair. 

u  Now  wait  till  I  measure  the  table,"  said  the  President, 

[210] 


THE   MANIFESTATION   OF  PHRTKO 


drawing  out  his  foot-rule.  After  a  calculation  he  noted  in 
his  books  the  valuable  information,  cc  three  feet  five  by 
five  feet  two,"  and  seated  himself  in  front  of  the  new 
medium,  staring  inquisitorially. 

It  was  up  to  Roulhac  Braghampton  now,  and  well  he 
played  his  hand.  Under  the  domination  of  his  occult 
magnetism  the  table  jumped  and  waggled  on  one  leg  anew. 
Raps  sounded  from  all  corners  of  the  room,  and,  suddenly, 
the  interior  of  the  cloth  cabinet  was  lighted  by  a  warm 
ruddy  glow. 

A  chorus  of  "  ohs  !  "  and  u  ahs  !  "  hailed  this  weird 
development,  subsiding  into  an  expectant  hush  at  the  stern 
reproval  of  the  President  of  the  investigating  society.  In 
the  calm  the  red  light  grew  more  intense,  and  after  a  heart 
rending  period  of  suspense  the  curtain  was  raised. 

There,  bathed  in  a  sizzling  illumination  that  seemed  to 
pour  from  above,  appeared  a  monstrous  caricature  of  a 
human  being,  a  scandal,  a  libel  on  mankind,  a  peaked  and 
wizened  thing  with  three  legs,  with  an  orange-red  hairless 
pate,  without  teeth,  and  with  arms  like  dead  branches.  The 
object,  had  it  not  been  so  repulsive,  would  have  been  funny; 
had  it  not  been  so  funny,  it  would  have  been  repulsive,  and 
there  you  were  !  He,  she,  or  it,  whatever  might  be  the  sex 
of  the  curiosity,  gibbered  a  few  words  and  shundled  up  and 
down  in  front  of  the  cabinet.  Pointing  to  Roulhac,  who 
sat  rapt,  his  head  upon  the  three-feet-five  by  five-feet-two 
table,  the  freak  cried,  as  Phryko  had  cried,  "  Oy  ro  Nisho- 
ram ! "  and  disappeared  within  the  folds  of  the  curtain. 
The  red  glare  subsided  and  went  out.  The  manifestation 
was  over.  Surely  this  was  enough  ! 

"  Oh,  brave  new  worlds,  that  have  such  people  in  them  !  " 
quoted  Miss  Madelaine  Mischief  as  the  marveling  audience 

[211] 


LADY  MECHANTE 


curdled  into  groups.  "Ah  yes,  now  I  am  convinced  ! 
Were  there  nothing  but  my  own  foolish  babblings  to  as 
sert  the  mysteries,  I  would  have  none  of  them.  But  that 
Mr.  Braghampton  has  shared  with  me  the  power  seems 
too  much  for  my  doubts.  Yes,  I  am  the  Manifestation, 
the  Light!  Through  me  shall  men  hear  and  know. 
Phryko  herself  has  crowned  me  high  priestess  !  Now  I 
shall  found  my  cult  and  establish  my  creed  and  code.  I 
shall  raise  up  a  church,  a  temple  of  Mars,  and  you  shall 
be  my  disciples.  Go  forth  then,  and  publish  the  tid 
ings  from  every  house-top.  It  is  the  New  Dispensation  ! 
What  boots  the  telescope,  the  spectroscope,  and  all  the 
other  toys  and  tools  of  the  materialists  ?  It  is  not  in  this 
way  we  shall  know  Truth  !  No  42-inch  objective  shall  re 
veal  what  I  have  seen  —  the  knowledge  must  come  through 
psychic  sources  —  through  the  channels  of  intuition  !  " 

"  Ah,  but  if  we  only  had  a  key  to  those  pregnant  Mar 
tian  syllables,"  murmured  Mrs.  Burlap. 

"  Fear  not,"  said  the  medium  ;   "  all  shall  be  revealed." 

"  Fear  not,"  said  the  President  of  the  Society  for  Psychi 
cal  Research  ;  "  I  shall  reveal  it  myself.  Intuition  is  all 
very  well  in  a  way,  but  Science  must  supplement  these 
extra-natural  phenomena.  Mr.  Braghampton,  would  you 
kindly  give  me  a  few  particulars  necessary  to  complete  all 
the  data  respecting  this  most  extraordinary  occasion  ?  It 
is  of  the  greatest  consequence  that  we  proceed  in  a  scien 
tific  spirit.  What  size  collar  do  you  wear,  now  ?  And 
what  did  you  have  for  breakfast  ?  Have  you  ever  seen  a 
ghost  before  ?  And  if  not,  why  not  ?  " 

Absorbed  in  these  portentous  details,  the  President  did 
not  find  time  to  turn  his  attention  to  the  examination  of 
the  cabinet  with  its  curtain  which  swayed  suspiciously  as 

[212] 


THE   MANIFESTATION   OF  PHRTKO 


the  Martian  disappeared.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  to 
notice  that  the  fabric  completely  enclosed  the  skylight  in 
the  ceiling,  nor  that  from  above  a  draught  of  night  air 
still  agitated  the  folds  of  the  canopy. 

To  Miss  Hattitude  the  evening  loomed  big  with  proph 
ecy.  She  had  found  her  hero.  She  had  long  cherished 
the  belief  that  Boston  held  no  man  worthy  her  worship, 
and,  to  her,  love  and  worship  were  one.  She  had  sought 
in  New  York,  in  Chicago,  and  as  far  West  as  the  Missis 
sippi  for  a  demigod  without  success.  The  thought  had 
grown  in  her  mind  that  indeed  she  was  too  good  for  any  hu 
man  being  alive,  and,  thus  prepared,  she  embraced  the 
glorious  prospect  of  an  interplanetary  alliance.  Still,  she 
was  relieved  to  know  that  Mr.  Roulhac  Braghampton, 
whatever  might  be  his  proper  physical  condition  upon  his 
native  planet,  did  not,  in  this  incarnation,  have  three  legs  ! 


Chapter  Ctgfjt 

THE    INTERPLANETARY    PLAN 

Tell  your  lady-mistress  she  has  shot  up  a  sweet  mushroom  ! 

(Thierry  and  Theodoret.) 

Mrs.  Burlap,  arbiter  of  Boston's  culture, 
the  revelations  of  the  seance  laid  hold  like 
an  immense  octopus  with  the  tentacles  of 
tremendous  tidings.  She  writhed  in  proph 
ecy,  but  the  devil-fish  enshrouded  her  in  a 
sepia  mist  of  mystery.  She  would  have 
been  glad  to  become  the  oracle  of  the  new  manifestation,  to 
hold  this  ingenuous  simple-minded  Miss  Mischief  in  patron 
izing  control,  to  preserve  the  philosophy  for  the  polite  elect 
and  keep  the  herd  at  bay  ;  but  to  keep  back  such  dynamic 
news  was  something  like  attempting  to  conceal  a  lighted 
sky-rocket.  Miss  Mischief  was  a  teaspoonful  of  wildfire  of 
which  some  dozen  enthusiasts  had  tasted,  and  already  they 
began  themselves  to  burst  into  flames.  Who  could  combat 
such  an  appetite  ?  Not  this  amiable  gryphon,  this  proper 
caryatid,  staggering  under  the  weight  of  Society. 

The  daily  papers  with  *  flair  for  a  new  sensation,  wormed 
their  way  into  ken  of  the  miracle,  and  it  soon  transpired  in 
hint  and  gossip  till,  atop  the  general  interest  and  curiosity, 
sprang  the  printed  report  of  the  President  of  the  Society  for 


THE  INTERPLANETARY  PLAN 


Psychical  Research.  It  was  copied  in  every  Boston  news 
paper  and  discussed  by  laborers,  cab-drivers,  and  million 
aires  alike.  The  interest  centred  about  the  speech  of  the 
materialized  Phryko,  and  more  than  one  Professor  at  Har 
vard  College  sat  up  in  his  wrapper  and  slippers  endeavoring 
to  be  the  first  to  interpret  the  message.  But  the  illuminat 
ing  ray  was  to  come  from  an  unexpected  quarter. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  the  President,  in  transcribing 
the  words  phonetically,  according  to  Ben  Pitman's  immortal 
system  of  shorthand,  had  omitted  the  vowels.  What  he 
had  to  publish,  then,  was  a  series  of  groups  of  consonants, 
running  something  like  this  : 

"  O  Snrt  n  r  s  ngnd w  f  srm  r  ngtw  t  stfnm  th 

rtrg  nshsnpsd  f  jln D   sth  jsm  .  .  .  rppp    r   sdnm   rf 

thrt  dn  wlf  slsnk  f  Phryko  dn  r  tnlp  Ish  dnf  drwrf  t  r  sip 
tsngm  th  srfs." 

Two  days  after  the  publication  of  this  cypher,  a  letter 
appeared  in  the  Boston  Transcript  announcing  the  fact  that 
a  translation  had  been  achieved  in  the  following  manner. 
The  consonants  in  each  group  were  reversed,  and  upon 
this,  as  a  skeleton,  vowels  were  inserted  experimentally 
until  a  modicum  of  sense  had  proved  the  efficacy  of  the 
method. 

For  instance,  the  first  sentence  so  reversed  read  :    "  O, 

T  r  n  s n  —  r  —  s  —  d  n  ng."     With  the  proper  vowels 

added,  this  was  transposed  into  the  startling  announcement, 
"T(e)rr(e)n(e)s,  (a)  n(ew)  (E)r(a)  (i)s  d(aw)n(i)ng  !  " 
Proceeding  thus  with  the  whole  speech,  it  was  found  to 
continue  as  follows  : 

"  We  of  Mars  are  waiting  to  manifest  the  Greater   Dis 
pensation    of   Knowledge.      Heed 
your  minds   for   the   Truth    and 


LADY   MECHANTE 


Phryko,  and  your  planet  shall  bound  forward  to  a  higher 
place  amongst  the  spheres  !  " 

In  the  same  way  Phryko's  wild  cri-du-cceur,  when  point 
ing  to  Roulhac  Braghampton,  "  Oy  ro  Nishoram  !  Kiwee  !  " 
was  easily  translated,  u  You  are  a  Martian  !  Awake  !  " 

The  effect  of  this  discovery,  which  was  attributable  to 
Mr.  Mortimer  Stencill,  an  actor  doing  a  supper-turn  at 
Keith's  Theater,  was  tremendous.  Seance  followed  seance 
till  the  room  on  West  Cedar  Street  was  inadequate  to  pro 
vide  accommodations  for  the  seekers  after  extra-planetary 
truth.  For  a  while  Mrs.  Braxton-Burlap  viseed  the  appli 
cations  for  seats,  but  upon  the  removal  to  a  hall  the  control 
of  the  cult  escaped  her,  and,  though  she  was  still  one  of  the 
chief  disciples,  the  tone  of  the  fellowship  was  never  after 
ward  of  the  quality  she  could  quite  approve.  The  earlier 
days  were  patronized  by  select  assemblies,  but  as  soon  as  the 
news  of  a  new  faith  was  bruited  abroad,  cranks  and  eccen 
trics  of  all  orders  hastened  to  renounce  their  former  meta 
physical  allegiance  and  swell  the  congregation  that  already 
had  begun  to  attend  the  lectures  of  the  Illuminati. 

D 

With  the  discovery  of  the  translation  of  the  Martian 
tongue  the  public  interest  increased  a  thousand  fold.  Line 
upon  line,  precept  upon  precept,  a'  Martian  Science,  Reli 
gion,  and  Philosophy  was  made  known  through  the  medium- 
ship  of  Miss  Madelaine  Mischief,  by  the  thaumaturgic 
Phryko.  The  bitter  verdict  of  astronomers  that  life  under 
human  conditions  was  impossible  upon  the  planet  Mars, 
that  the  planet  possessed  neither  water  nor  atmosphere,  that 
the  so-called  land  and  water  surfaces  as  shown  upon  Shia- 
parelli's  maps  were  such  in  name  only,  that  the  variation  of 
the  polar  caps  could  be  caused  by  the  melting  of  nothing 
less  volatile  than  carbon  dioxid,  that  the  "  canals  "  were  in 

[216] 


THE   INTERPLANETARY   PLAN 


all  probability  but  huge  fissures  in  the  outer  skin  of  the  red 
globe,  caused  by  the  expansion  of  the  inner  nucleus,  or  per 
haps  but  mere  visual  aberrations,  —  all  and  sundry  scientific 
pedantries  were  overthrown  by  the  apodictical  asseverations 
of  the  incarnated  High  Priestess  now  vouchsafed  to  the  men 
of  Earth.  The  cult  grew,  and  a  campaign  of  education 
was  inaugurated  as  the  data  warranted  creed,  dogma,  and 
formula  for  the  new  sect. 

Roulhac   Braghampton,    had  he    been  but  one-eighth  the 
hot-headed  enthusiast  that  he  was,  could    not    have   helped 
being     drawn    into    the    maelstrom.      The    apostrophe    of 
Phryko  had  brought  him  of  a  sudden  to   the  center  of  the 
stage,  and  the  gathering  audience  looked  to  him  as  an  inter 
mediator  between  the  ecstatic  mediumship  of  Miss  Mischief 
and    humankind.      The    theory   became   prevalent   that   he 
himself  was  the  product  of  a  prenatal  metempsychosis,  and 
that,  incubating  in  his   subliminal  self,  was  the   teleological 
explanation  of  the  relation  betwixt  the  two  spheres.    It  was 
only  a  matter  of  the  proper  development,  and,  in  time  under 
the    promptings    of    Phryko,    this   subconsciousness    would 
come  to  the  surface  and  offer  the   practical  explanation   of 
the  unification  of  the  worlds.      In  the   popular  parlance,  he 
was  a  Terrene,  but  he  held  deep  hidden  in  his  soul  a  Mar 
tian  consciousness  that  would  soon  make  known  its  secret. 
Hetty    Hattitude    was   red-hot   and    smoking  with   hero- 
worship,  and   the    most    eager   of   the  eager    Martian   cult. 
With  Mrs.   Braxton-Burlap  she  made  the   tour  of  Boston 
Society   and    brought   every    laggard    into    the   fold.      The 
pent-up  enthusiasm  could  hardly  find  escape  in  the  knowl 
edge  that  trickled   through  the   seeress — the   demand  was 
constant   for  more  Truth,  more  definite   facts,  and,  above 
all,  for  a  ritual  and  a  terminology.      To  satisfy  this  craving, 


LADY   MECHANTE 


Mortimer  Stencill,  working  behind  the  scenes,  toiled  long 
and  late. 

And  so,  at  last,  was  organized  the  First  Temple  of 
Mars.  With  Miss  Mischief  as  High  Priestess,  and  Roul- 
hac  Braghampton  as  a'  kind  of  archdeacon  or  precentor, 
the  services  were  begun  in  the  Mechanics  Pavilion,  and 
the  conoreoration  took  its  part  in  the  adoration  of  the  red 
sphere.  Capital  for  the  erection  of  a  fitting  edifice  had 
been  easily  subscribed  by  influential  citizens  vaunting 
Boston's  paramount  claim  for  recognition  as  the  initiator  of 
every  truly  modern  movement ;  and  soon  upon  a  lot  hard 
by  the  Public  Library,  a  site  that  had  been  held  jealously 
for  some  most  worthy  purpose,  the  building  was  erected. 

It  was  of  red  brick,  and  in  its  design  Mortimer  Stencill 
had  had  free  hand  and  had  given  his  fancy  the  rein. 
Circular  in  plan  and  triangular  in  elevation,  the  pile  rose, 
a  huge  cone  pointing  to  the  zenith.  About  its  middle  a 
stone  torus  bore  this  inspiring  inscription  in  the  Martian 
tongue  : 

"SOME  THINGS  THOUGH  SEEMINGLY 
INCONSEQUENT  IN  THEIR  IMMEDIATE  EN 
VIRONMENT  YET  INDUBITABLY  BEAR  AN 
OBSCURE  CORRELATION  TO  THE  VAST 
PRINCIPLES  OF  TRANSCENDENTAL  HAR 
MONY." 

The  central  hall  was  circular,  and  from  the  middle  of 
its  ceiling  hung  a  compound  pendulum,  swinging  in  har 
monic  curves  traced  by  a  golden  inverted  cone.  Above,  a 
conical  chamber  was  devoted  to  the  use  of  the  High 
Priestess  -,  it  was  lined  with  red  marble  and  furnished  with 

r  218 1 


THE  INTERPLANETARY  PLAN 


sumptuous  taste.  Here  Madelaine  Mischief  received  the 
initiates,  or  administered  to  acolytes  the  higher  degrees  of 
Martian  Science.  It  was  decorated  with  texts  inspired  by 
the  superhuman  Phryko,  and  contained  a  large  stained  glass 
window  showing  the  high  priestess  holding  a  red  globe. 

The  fad  raged  for  a  while  unchecked  by  a  reaction,  but 
it  was,  like  all  great  movements,  destined  to  pass  through 
three  great  epochs.  First,  then,  it  was  greeted  with  the 
ridicule  of  the  materialists  —  the  gibes  of  the  man  in  the 
street.  The  papers  lampooned  the  cult  unmercifully  and 
published  bogus  messages  from  Mercury,  Saturn,  and  Venus. 
The  Martian  cocktail  was  retailed  over  the  Parker  House 
bar,  and  red  hair  and  whiskers  received  the  slangy  obloquy 
of  the  gamin.  Three-legged  stools,  or  camera  tripods,  were 
dubbed  "  Martian  mules."  The  hog-latin  of  the  adolescent 
was  parodied  as  Martian  idiom,  and  so  the  wind  of  derision 
raged.  Through  all  this  era  the  cult  clung  to  its  creed 
with  the  strength  of  a  masterful  minority.  The  devotees 
told  each  other  that,  after  all,  these  materialistic  facts  were 
but  the  outward  and  visible  signs  of  the  new  truth.  The 
manifestations  had  a  kernel  of  virtue  only  to  be  cracked  by 
deep  study  of  the  letter  of  the  message.  Members  of  the 
Cult  of  Mars  boasted  to  the  incredulous  that  their  doctrines 
had  an  esoteric  significance  undreamed  of  by  the  scoffers. 

Next  came  the  epoch  of  persecution.  The  sect  grew 
more  and  more  powerful,  and  the  conventional  beliefs  at  last 
began  to  recognize  in  it  a  rival.  The  churches  rose 
against  this  weird  unearthly  creed  and  sowed  their  tracts 
abroad.  Science  came  out  in  lecture  and  magazine  article 
to  prove  the  illogical  basis  of  its  pretended  revelations,  and 
finally  the  Law  was  aroused  and  bestirred  itself  in  opposi 
tion  to  the  alarming  machinations  of  the  inspired  quartette. 

[2,9] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


This  last  enemy  was  the  most  powerful  threat ;  and  the 
cabal  held  many  counsels  in  order  to  protect  itself  against 
the  danger. 

But,  meanwhile,  several  divisions  of  the  work  had  been 
made,  which  it  is  necessary  to  treat  in  detail.  Miss  Mis 
chief  had  organized  the  exploitation  of  the  Martian  cult 
with  consummate  executive  ability.  Roulhac  she  appointed 
her  chief  lieutenant  and  suffragan;  through  him  were  held 
all  communications  with  the  congregation  of  believers. 
He  was,  in  fact,  a  bureau  of  publicity,  the  barker  outside 
the  side-show  of  this  strange  sect.  Upon  Mr.  Stencill  fell 
the  invention  of  the  material  accessories  and  the  machinery 
of  the  science,  while  Guy  Bounder  was  entrusted  with  the 
creation  and  maintenance  of  an  exchequer. 

To  keep  Mrs.  Stencill  out  of  the  conspiracy  was,  of 
course,  impossible.  Miss  Mischief  knew  more  than  to  try. 
It  was,  in  fact,  her  perennial  despair  that  Roberta  proved 
so  complaisant.  Bitter  jealousy  would  have  been  more 
easy  to  combat.  The  wife  of  the  actor  encouraged  him  in 
the  game  to  the  top  of  his  bent,  and  seconded  with  hilarity 
his  endeavors  for  the  advancement  of  the  cult.  Neverthe 
less  she  was  a  woman,  and  therefore  a  victim  of  mixed 
motives.  She  had  her  eye  on  young  Braghampton  and 
watched  her  chance  to  undo  him.  The  affair  with  the 
two  Pompadours  had  awakened  a  lively  desire  to  defeat  him 
in  whatever  love  affair  he  happened  to  be  engaged,  and, 
irrational  and  fantastic  as  was  that  impulse,  it  was  always 
with  her.  She  played  up  to  her  husband,  then,  seconding 
his  capacity  for  elaborate  gaming  with  a  lively  imagination. 

Mortimer  had  dabbled,  as  Miss  Mischief  had  said,  in  all 
corners  of  science;  his  was  a  most  curious  lore.  He  had 
sought  first  for  some  striking  and  convincing  peg  upon 

[220] 


THE   INTERPLANETART   PLAN 


which  to  hang  his  system,  and  hunted  long  for  the  clou  to 
the  exposition  of  Irrational  Science.  He  discarded  the 
doctrine  of  Hyperspace  as  too  abstruse  and  technical.  He 
bethought  himself  of  the  modern  affectations  of  the  cult  of 
Color-Bores  —  those  who  trace  color  in  sound,  in  word, 
and  even  in  letters.  But  this  was  too  easy.  It  was  like 
inventing  dreams,  and  it  would  disgust  the  intelligent. 

The  hint  came  at  last  when,  one  day,  he  chanced  to 
drive  a  splinter  into  his  thumb.  In  removing  it  his 
attention  was  called  to  the  capillary  markings  upon  the  ball 
of  his  finger,  and  here  he  saw  his  opportunity.  It  was  so 
simple  !  It  was  so  applicable  to  permutation  !  By  these 
capillary  markings,  differing  in  each  hand,  but  divisible  into 
categories,  all  mankind  could  be  classified.  He  set  about 
the  analysis.  He  pored  over  reports  of  the  Chinese 
methods  of  identification  of  criminals  by  thumb-prints; 
he  faithfully  went  through  Bertillon's  exhaustive  reports 
and  Gallon's  system  of  classification.  These  data  proved 
enormously  valuable,  and  he  tabulated  the  possible  varia 
tions  under  the  three  great  heads  :  Arches,  Whorls,  and 
Loops.  He  assigned  varying  attributes  to  Tented  and 
Forked  Arches,  to  Loops  Nascent,  Invaded,  and  Crested,  to 
Spiral  Whorls  and  Circlets,  to  Rings  Duplex  and  Banded, 
and  dissected  them  into  Eyelets,  Rods,  Staples,  and  Cores, 
according  to  their  elementary  nuclei. 

Here  was  a  terminology  already  made  to  his  hand,  and  it 
was  adopted  by  the  cabal  with  whoops  of  enthusiasm. 
Roulhac  found  upon  the  ball  of  his  own  thumb  the  Circlet- 
Whorl  of  the  High  Order  of  Mars,  Miss  Mischief  bore  the 
immortal  Banded  Duplex  Spiral,  but  Guy  was  marked  with 
the  stigmatic  evidence  of  the  Invaded  Loop.  The  key  to 
this  cryptographic  revelation  was  soon  mastered  by  the  High 

[221] 


LADY  M EC H ANTE 


Priestess,  and  the  divination  of  caste  by  the  Martian  Mark 
of  the  Thumb  became  a  part  of  the  Primary  Initiation. 
The    compound    or    twin-elliptic    pendulum     heretofore 


described  was  a  pretty  extension  of  the  idea.      If  a 


;ht, 


suspended  from  a  cord  attached  to  the  bottom  of  a  V-shaped 
loop,  is  permitted  to  swing  with  a  rotary  motion,  it  will 
describe  what  is  known  as  a  harmonic  curve,  varying  accord 
ing  to  the  proportions  of  the  parts  of  the  pendulum.  To 
trace  similarities  between  these  mysterious  curves  and  the 
lines  on  the  thumb  was  easy,  but  pregnant  with  meaning. 
The  dimensions  of  the  proper  pendulum  for  any  particular 
marking  gave  significant  numbers  by  which  were  figured 
the  fatal  dates  and  destinies  of  the  subject.  One  more 
invention,  however,  might  be  described.  In  the  circumfer 
ence  of  the  circular  audience  hall  was  set  a  huge  organ.  Not 
the  gaudy  mass  of  painted  tubes  to  be  found  in  the  church 
terrestrial  was  this,  however  ;  its  machinery  shot  forth  pure 
color  instead  of  sound.  Mr.  Stencill  had  calculated  the 
analogy  between  vibrations  of  sound  and  light  waves,  and 
had  constructed  his  scale  of  color  to  correspond  with  the 
notes  of  the  staff.  The  keys  of  his  instrument  touched, 
there  flashed  forth  upon  a  black  screen  rays  of  colored 
light,  in  solo  or  chord,  varying  as  music  varies  in  tone, 
from  hue  to  hue.  Waves  of  tender  green  burned  into 
red,  blues  and  purples  melted  into  orange  and  yellow  with 
soft  gradations  or  triumphant  metamorphoses.  Lights  flick 
ered  like  driftwood  fires,  violet,  rose,  and  opal,  and  swept  in 
waves  to  the  more  virile  tones  of  the  spectrum.  Through 
smoky  harmonies  of  brown  broke  melodies  of  heliotrope  and 
pink.  Minor  nuances  in  gray  and  mauve  changed  into  major 
exultant  combinations  of  primary  color.  The  effect  was 
inspiring  and  superb  as  a  summer  sunset.  It  was  Heaven 

[222] 


THE  INTERPLANETART  PLAN 


grown  visible,  the  glory  of  the  Lord  made  manifest.  And 
such,  said  Phryko,  was  Martian  music. 

These  are  but  examples  of  Mortimer  Stencill's  ingenuity. 
There  was  more,  much  more.  His  mind,  thrown  into  this 
work,  blossomed  with  genius,  and  invention  after  invention 
bewildered  the  anxious  inquirers  after  the  wonderful  truths 
of  his  Martian  Science.  In  the  sanctum  of  the  High  Priest 
ess,  half  was  laboratory  and  half  boudoir.  Here  were  the 
super-scientific  instruments  that  gauged  the  spirit,  intellect, 
and  morals  of  the  initiate.  Delicate,  sensitive,  and  precise, 
these  wonderful  apparatuses  could  measure  the  minutest 
heart-throb,  the  quaternary  thrill  of  passion,  the  faintest 
yearning,  the  tiniest  desire.  Here  was  the  Telepathoscope, 
a  cunning  contrivance  of  golden  springs  and  lissome  levers 
—  the  first  inheritance  from  Mars  of  that  higher  civilization 
which  the  red  planet,  twenty-five  millions  of  years  ahead 
of  the  earth  in  development,  revealed  to  terrestrial  use. 
Here  was  the  Circumspectroscope  that  could  analyze  fact 
and  assay  the  ore  of  thought,  transmuting  it  into  its  quan 
tum  of  abstract  Truth.  Here  was  the  Intelligraph,  trans 
mitting  thought  by  a  subtle  and  direct  process  from  mind 
to  paper.  Here  was  the  Cardiometer,  registering  affection, 
love,  passion,  ecstasy,  in  degrees  upon  a  dial. 

And  here,  too,  of  equal  interest  to  the  spectator,  were 
the  artful  tools  of  Miss  Mischief's  human  affairs;  hair 
brushes,  all  in  gold,  diamond-set  combs,  lacquered  powder 
boxes,  caskets  of  vermeil  and  bistre,  phials  of  belladonna, 
and  a  thousand  more  dainty  instruments  ministering  to  the 
equally  important  offices  of  the  High  Priestess.  Ah,  she 
was  no  such  half-wit  as  to  neglect  the  outward  and  visible 
signs  of  divinity  !  It  was  not  in  her  theory  of  reform  that 
the  hair  must  be  short  and  the  gown  ill-fitting.  She  flashed 

["3] 


LADY   MECHANTE 


with  the   iridescent   rainbow   hues  of  a  dying  carp.      Blue 
first,  and  all   the   other   colors   afterwards   as   accessories  — 
she  could   not  give  up  that  cerulean   caprice   even   for  the 
obvious  choice  consistent  with  the  aspect  of  her  adopted 
planet. 

But  Bounder  !  Too  long  have  we  neglected  him,  the 
Chancellor  of  the  Martian  Exchequer,  the  cockney  treas 
urer  financing  the  merry  movement.  He  was  not  slow  to 
see  his  opportunity  in  the  mysteries  of  Capillary  Caste  and 
in  the  economic  value  of  the  Compound  Harmonic  Pendu 
lum.  He  established  a  bureau  of  Divination  where,  in  a 
little  room  off  the  main  hall  of  the  church  edifice,  charac 
ters  were  told  while  anxious  inquirers  waited  in  line  for 
hours  and  hours  for  their  turn.  The  curves  traced  by  the 
pendulum  were  sold  at  exorbitant  rates,  each  patient  pur 
chasing  the  diagram  in  accord  with  the  markings  upon  his 
thumb.  A  printed  treatise  was  published,  formulating  the 
calculation  of  these  personal-curves.  But  this  was  not 
enough.  Money  had  been  made  more  easily  than  that  in 
Boston.  His  next  step,  therefore,  was  more  in  accord 
with  his  training  and  intellect. 

The  most  remunerative  form  of  investment,  he  con 
sidered,  was  in  that  form  of  speculation  where  one  gets 
something  for  nothing.  The  statement  was  axiomatic,  and 
he  racked  his  wits  to  embody  it  in  some  practical  method. 
It  was  easy  enough  to  give  nothing,  what  tortured  his  fancy 
was  how  to  get  the  people  to  give  something.  It  was  at 
last  achieved,  as  usual,  by  the  appeal  to  a  primary  passion. 
He  ran  over  the  list  on  his  ten  fingers,  the  fingers  Roulhac 
had  once  compared  to  Frankfurter  sausages  :  Love,  Hate, 
Passion,  Jealousy,  Vanity,  Covetousness,  Selfishness,  Glut 
tony,  Pride,  Greed.  There  upon  the  little  finger  (not 


THE    INTERPLANETARY   PLAN 


so  little,  either)  of  his  left  hand  he  found  the  reagent  for 
transmuting  nothing  into  something. 

The  new  cult  had  not,  as  yet,  formulated  the  precise 
principles  of  its  code.  Speculations  were  rife.  It  was 
known  that  Roulhac  Braghampton  and  Miss  Mischief  were 
engaged  in  the  translation  of  Martian  messages,  that  before 
long  the  newer  Bible,  the  book  of  modern  revelation,  would 
be  given  to  the  world.  Guy  Bounder's  mind,  sly  and  sinu 
ous,  must  anticipate  the  code  —  he  must,  of  his  own  initia 
tive,  spring  a  sensation  and  reap  the  reward  before  his 
authority  could  be  contravened.  He  .toiled  in  secret,  there 
fore,  and  perfected  his  scheme  in  the  dark.  He  made 
clandestine  trips  to  a  printer's  shop,  and  one  fine  morning 
when  the  arch-conspirators  were  absent  he  sprung  his  mine. 
A  huge  sign  in  his  office  announced  in  staring  letters  that : 

"  Licences  to  steal  will  be  issued  by  the  High  Priestess  of  Mars, 
under  the  Authority  of  the  Spirit  Phryko.  Prices  as  follows  : 

Permission  to  steal,  from  values  $i  to  $100 $1.00 

from  $100  to  $1000  .   ...     $5.00 
from  $1000  to  $1,000,000  .    .    .   $50.00 

These  licence-certificates  must  be  kept  secret  upon  pain  of  abro 
gation  of  penalty." 

The  response  was  immediate  and  active.  The  first 
morning  Guy  Bounder's  idea  netted  him  $5500.  He  cau 
tioned  each  buyer  to  say  nothing  either  of  the  offer  or  of 
the  transaction,  and  he  succeeded  in  keeping  the  news  of 
the  business  from  becoming  known  to  his  principals  for 
several  weeks.  The  effect  of  this  enormous  increase  in  his 
revenues  was  to  make  him  supremely  satisfied  with  his  share 
of  the  plot.  Most  of  his  reward  was  stored,  either  in  solid 
or  in  liquid  form,  beneath  his  plaid  waistcoat.  He  strutted, 
'5  [225] 


LADY  MECHANTE 


now,  like  a  turkey  gobbler  crammed  with  vanity,  swollen 
with  an  inflamed  conceit.  He  smiled  to  himself  at  the 
child's  play  that  contented  his  partners. 

So  much  for  the  subordinates;  upon  the  High  Priestess 
and  her  lieutenant,  Braghampton,  was  laid  a  far  more  im 
portant  task.  It  was  their  part  to  perpetrate  the  propa 
ganda  of  the  faith,  to  formulate  the  ritual,  to  establish  the 
cult  complete  with  creed,  dogma,  theology,  cosmogony, 
philosophy,  and  metaphysic.  For  this  there  must  be  some 
definite  text  to  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  believers,  some 
book  so  suggestive,  so  irrational,  so  verbose,  so  ambiguous 
and  obscure  that  it  might  be  interpreted  as  meaning  every 
thing,  anything,  or  nothing.  It  must  follow  the  precedent 
of  religious  development ;  it  must  be  divinely  inspired  — 
that  was  easy,  for  Phryko  had  been  hailed  with  acclamation 
by  the  multitude  as  one  of  a  higher  intelligence  —  it  must 
create  a  new  terminology,  if  only  by  the  mere  writing  of 
common  nouns  with  initial  capital  letters.  Above  all,  it 
must  be  long  enough,  new  enough,  to  sell  for  five  dollars  a 
volume.  But  it  had  come  to  pass  in  Boston  that  Truth, 
All-in~All,  and  Mind  had  already  been  over-capitalized  — 
they  must  discover  some  new  territory  of  the  emotions. 

Night  after  night,  after  the  fatiguing  work  of  seancing  in 
the  new  church,  after  the  royal  Martian  robes  had  been  laid 
off,  and  the  money  from  the  collections  counted,  Roulhac 
Braghampton  and  Lady  Mechante  toiled  over  the  literary 
task,  dictating,  revising,  amending  and  emending  the  manu 
script.  Chapter  after  chapter,  part  after  part,  his  arm  about 
her  waist  and  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  the  two  traveled 
with  their  Apocalypse  —  the  Martian  Book  of  Bosh. 


[2Z6] 


Chapter  J^tne 

THE   BOOK  OF   BOSH 

How  her  brain  coins  ! 

(Two  Noble  Kinsmen.) 

AID  Roulhac  to  Miss  Mischief  one  morning 
several  weeks  after  their  final  lucubration  : 
"  I  dreamed  that  I  was  trying  to  keep  a 
horde  of  savages  at  bay,  with  a  22-caliber 
revolver  which  shot  pink  balloons  !  " 

"  It  was  prophetic,"  replied  the  lady. 
"Some  such  work  is  indeed  before  us.  Let  me  interpret 
the  dream  for  you.  The  savages  are  the  members  of  the 
Great  and  General  Court  of  Massachusetts,  and  the  pink 
balloons  are  texts  from  the  Book  of  Bosh,  '  being  the  apo- 
dictic  revelation  of  Martian  Science  now  first  vouchsafed  to 
Terrenes  by  the  Spirit  Phryko,  Daughter  of  the  Fire,'  as  our 
sub-title  hath  it  !  ' 

"  But  what  have  we  to  do  with  the  Legislature  ?  "  he 
queried. 

"  Are  you  so  soon  satisfied  ?  "  she  said  cynically.  "  Have 
you  then  reached  the  limit  of  your  ambition  ?  Why, 
Bounder  himself  has  higher  ideals  !  Bounder,  by  the  way, 
is  up  to  something  queer — I  confess  I  can't  quite  make 
him  out." 

"  Heaven  hates  a  hog,"  said  the  young  man  from  the 
West.  "We  have  stayed  with  the  game  in  good  style, 

[227] 


LADY   M EC H ANTE 


and  we  've  played  nothing  but  blue  chips.  But  I  'm  hungry 
for  San  Francisco  again.  Lordy,  but  that  town  is  frothy  ! 
There's  about  as  much  excitement  in  this  place  as  you 
could  find  in  a  clam  fritter.  It 's  too  easy  !  All  bluffs  are 
called  on  Kearney  Street,  but  everything  goes  here.  I  hate 
to  bet  on  a  sure  thing.  I  long  for  the  old  days  when  the 
sun  shone  on  all  sides  of  the  house,  when  we  weren't 
lorgnetted  to  death  when  we  went  outdoors  and  did  n't 
have  our  pictures  in  the  papers.  I  'm  for  a  quiet 
life  and  no  awning  and  yellow  carpet  down  the  front 
steps  !  " 

ct  Don't  try  to  seduce  me,  for  I  'm  implacable,"  said 
Miss  Mischief.  u  We  must  raise  the  limit.  I  have  my 
idea,  and  it's  not  half  accomplished  yet.  The  town  and 
country  are  aroused ;  they  've  stood  for  Martian  Science, 
and  they  're  keen  on  Metaphysics.  But  we  need  a  brass 
band  for  our  procession  —  we  must  attack  the  legislature. 
We  want  a  charter,  we  want  licence  to  practice  and  to 
give  degrees ;  we  want  immunity  from  taxation  for  the 
cult.  We  want  an  investigation  and  appropriation  for 
official  communication  with  Mars.  And  we  're  going 
to  get  it  !  " 

"  What  it  is  ?  "  cried  Roulhac,  wildly.  "  What  it  is 
that  which  it  is,  which  it  is  what  ?  " 

u  Here  's  my  petition  to  the  Great  and  General  Court. 
We  shall  present  it,  secure  a  hearing,  and  make  speeches. 
We  shall  impress  the  Representatives  from  Hull  and  Dux- 
bury,  and  I  shall  wear  blue  —  a  gown  of  pale  blue  bice-color 
and  we  shall  preach  the  Gospel  of  the  Fire.  Bounder 
shall  give  a  materialization,  and  Martian  Science  shall 
sweep  across  New  England  like  a  cyclone  !  "  Miss  Mis 
chief  smiled  at  the  chandelier. 


THE   BOOK   OF  BOSH 


"  And  then  ?  "  stammered  Roulhac. 

"And  then,"  she  said,  with  an  i8-carat  smile,  "and  then 
—  you  shall  marry  the  High  Priestess  as  the  Book  of  Bosh 
has  foretold  !  Tar^-ra  !  " 

Braghampton  jumped  up  and  made  for  her.  "  Do  you 
mean  it  ?  "  he  cried. 

She  spun  out  of  his  grasp  and  hopped  to  the  seat  of  a 
chair  as  if  she  had  caught  sight  of  a  mouse,  shaking  a  finger 
at  his  ardor.  "  I  mean  it  !  The  Children  of  the  Fire  be 
my  witness  !  But  don't  count  your  kisses  before  they  are 
snatched  !  "  she  added. 

Roulhac  helped  her  down  from  her  perch  with  trembling 
arms.  "You've  laid  me  on  the  table  for  the  last  time," 
he  said.  "  The  next  time  you  're  going  to  be  passed  by 
acclamation.  We  '11  have  a  three-ply  wedding  with  extras, 
sure  !  But  I  feel  like  an  old  tin  can  with  the  tomatoes 
emptied  out.  It 's  too  good  to  be  true  !  I  never  thought 
I  'd  be  proposed  to,  outside  the  female  ward  of  an  insane 
asylum  !  Have  I  taken  a  drink  about  seventeen  sizes  too 
large  for  me  or  what?  By  the  thumping  plush  pile-driver 
of  Cheops,  I  'm  as  silly  as  the  square  root  of  minus  one  ! 
I  could  roar  like  a  bull  of  Bashan.  My  Countess,  next 
month  we  '11  write  our  letters  on  asbestos  !  " 

But  Miss  Mischief,  like  Alice's  snail,  replied  "Too 
far,  too  far !  "  and  gave  a  look  askance.  Said  she  thanked 
Braghampton  kindly,  but  she  couldn't  join  the  dance  — 
would  n't,  could  n't,  could  n't,  would  n't,  would  n't,  could  n't 
join  the  dance  —  until  the  hearing  was  over.  And  so  he 
departed,  backing  out  of  the  door  for  a  last  languishing  look 
at  her  and,  encountering  Hetty  Hattitude  on  the  corner, 
escorted  her  enthusiastically  across  the  Common  to  Huyler's 
for  an  ice-cream  soda. 


LADT  MECHANTE 


Upon  Mrs.  Essery  and  Mrs.  Burlap  now  fell  the  task  of 
petitioning  the  Legislature  and  arranging  for  the  Commit 
tee's  reception.  Every  February  for  fourteen  years  they 
had  gone  up  to  the  State  House  to  attend  the  hearing  given 
the  claimants  and  opposers  of  women's  suffrage;  and  like 
moral  war-horses  they  scented  the  approaching  battle  with 
dilated  nostrils.  It  would  be  a  gala  day  for  Boston's  ad 
vanced  thinkers,  and  they  booted  and  spurred  themselves 
with  New  Thought.  What  was  Osteopathy  to  the 
magnificent  promises  of  this  great  transcendental  move 
ment  ?  What  was  Single  Tax,  Mental  Science,  Bahiism, 
Vivekananda,  Prentice  Mulford,  Cuban  Independence,  Anti- 
imperialism,  Roman  Catholic  Parochial  Schools,  Psycho 
therapy,  Tenement  House  Reform,  Sociology,  Graft, 
Frenzied  Finance,  the  Hygienic  Dangers  of  Slates  in  the 
Public  Schools,  the  Vedantic  Philosophy,  the  regulation  of 
the  microbe-laden  Kiss  and  the  Gypsy  Moth,  the  Index 
Expurgatorius  of  the  Public  Library,  or  the  preservation  of 
Boston  Common  to  this  —  Heaven's  last,  best  gift  —  the 
Communication  with  Mars  ?  The  nation  should  hear  from 
it !  Boston  should  once  again  set  the  intellectual  pace  for 
these  United  States.  It  was  a  new  Revolution;  it  was  a 
stroke  for  the  Union  of  the  Spheres  ;  it  was  Abolition  of 
Mental  Slavery. 

So  Mrs.  Burlap  said,  and  so  Mrs.  Essery  said  also,  shaking 
the  feathery  antennae  in  her  bonnet  over  the  teacups  of 
Trimount.  In  a  thousand  women's  clubs  the  movement 
was  discussed,  and  resolution  after  resolution  reinforced  the 
Cult  of  Mars.  Mrs.  Burlap  showed  the  capillary  Looped 
Spiral  on  the  palm  of  her  thumb  to  the  scoffers ;  reply  was 
impossible. 

The  day  was  set,  late  in  June.     The  joint  Committee, 
[230] 


THE   BOOK   OF  BOSH 


including  the  Representatives  from  Kingston,  Hingham, 
Northfield,  Hull  (as  it  happened),  Charlemont,  and  Peru, 
arrayed  themselves  in  frock-coats,  pared  their  nails  with 
the  four-bladed  tc  Congress  "  knives  which  on  the  open 
ing  day  they  had  found  upon  their  desks,  and  struggled 
into  white  ties.  Perspiration  poured  from  their  faces  at  the 
thought  of  the  encounter  with  the  operose  women  they  must 
face,  but  they  assumed  masks  of  wisdom  and  twirled  their 
thumbs  or  busied  their  fingers  with  their  rolled-gold  watch- 
chains.  Every  man  crossed  his  right  leg  over  his  left  knee 
except  the  member  from  Peru,  who  crossed  his  left  leg 
over  his  right  knee.  It  was  an  omen. 

The  room  was  full  and  rustling  with  sibilant  gossip.  In 
the  corridors  an  ill-tempered  crush  of  partisans  strove  like 
commuters  for  the  gangway  to  the  door.  Well  in  front  of 
those  seated  was  Miss  Mischief  in  a  daringly  sensational 
costume  of  pale  blue  and  amber.  Beside  her,  Roulhac 
Braghampton  surveyed  the  gathering,  and  from  time  to 
time  raised  his  patent-leather  shoes  to  prevent  injury  to 
their  polish.  Ever  and  again,  too,  his  gaze  sprang  to  a 
window  beside  the  members  of  the  Committee,  rested  there 
a  moment  in  anxiety,  and  fell  away. 

The  chairman,  he  of  Kingston,  rose  and  called  the  meet 
ing  to  order  in  a  few  embarrassed  phrases  and  opened  the 
discussion.  The  petitioners  were  first  to  be  heard  from, 
and  Miss  Mischief  arose,  walked  to  the  front  by  the  rail,  and 
opened  a  red  book — the  now  famous  Book  of  Bosh.  In 
the  silence  which  followed  five  of  the  Representatives  re- 
crossed  their  legs  and  smoothed  their  beards. 

In  supporting  the  petition  for  a  charter,  license  and  ap 
propriation  for  the  Temple  of  Mars,"  began  Miss  Mischief, 
"  it  is  no  doubt  fitting  that  I,  through  whom  this  new 


LADY   MECHANTE 


Science  was  first  manifested,  should  open  the  discussion. 
I  need  not  tell  your  Committee  of  the  wonderful  growth  of 
Martian  Science,  nor  how  its  Truth,  sweeping  in  wildfire 
over  the  hearts  of  men,  has  flooded  them  with  the  waters  of 
Life  abounding,  raising  up  clouds  of  prayer  in  the  midst  of 
the  dry  sands  of  Doubt.  I  invented  Martian  Science  and 
founded  the  First  Temple  of  Mars  three  months  ago  next 
Wednesday.  For  years  the  Lords  of  the  Sphere  have  been 
fitting  me  for  the  final  revelation  of  the  absolute  Principle 
of  the  Gospel  of  the  Fire. 

"  The  importance  of  this  movement  is  so  transcendent, 
so  far-reaching,  that  we  have,  I  am  sure,  but  to  describe 
its  aims  to  secure  from  your  Committee  the  recognition 
due  its  importance.  It  is  fitting  that  Massachusetts  should 
be  the  first  to  welcome  and  abet  a  Truth  so  illuminating. 
We  ask  you,  then,  to  report  in  favor  of  our  petition  that 
we  may  keep  the  wolves  in  sheep's  clothing  from  preying 
upon  our  pearls,  clogging  the  wheels  of  Martian  Science. 

"  But  what  is  this  creed  ?  For  those  of  you  who  have 
not  become  acquainted  already  with  the  glorious  tidings  of 
our  Martian  Apocalypse  let  me  describe  in  brief  the  new 
revelation  of  Cosmogony,  Theology,  and  Philosophy  vouch 
safed  to  terrestrial  mortals  by  the  Lords  of  the  Third 
Sphere. 

"  There  is  not  one  god,  but  many,  comprising  a  hierar 
chy  of  divinities  increasing  in  Omnipotence,  Omnipresence, 
and  Omniscience  to  the  uttermost  confines  of  Space.  For 
each  System  there  is  one  God,  with  his  circle  of  lesser 
Planetary  divinities.  The  One  God  of  the  Solar  System 
abides  in  the  Sun,  which  is  not  fire  as  we  understand  it, 
but  a  mass  of  celestial  magnetism  generated  by  the  love  of 
purified  spirits,  radiating  their  ineffable  effulgence  upon  the 

[232] 


THE   BOOK   OF   BOSH 


members  of  the  family  of  planets.  Incarnation  into  the 
Sun  is  only  attained  after  learning  the  Secret  of  the  Fire, 
which  is  imparted  to  each  planet  in  turn  by  the  planet  next 
nearest  the  Sun,  and  it  is  by  them  passed  on  to  the  next 
planet  away,  and  so  the  flame  of  Truth  passes  from  sphere 
to  sphere  till  all  the  Sons  and  Daughters  of  the  Fire  are 
purified.  Thus  the  children  of  Mercury  have  learned  the 
Secret  of  the  Fire  from  the  Celestials  dwelling  in  the  Sun. 
They  have  passed  the  Secret  after  millions  of  years  to  the 
inhabitants  of  Venus,  who  in  their  turn  have  made  it 
known  to  Mars.  The  time  has  now  come  when  the  flame 
of  Truth  passes  from  Mars  to  Terra,  and  we  are  becoming 
awakened  to  the  knowledge  of  that  manifestation.  We 
have  had  signs  and  tokens,  but  we  have  misconstrued  them 
wildly.  All  the  so-called  phenomena  of  Spiritism  are  but 
the  endeavors  of  Martians  to  make  known  to  us  the  Secret 
of  the  Fire.  It  is  an  age  of  Materialism  upon  the  Earth, 
but  already  we  see  the  promise  of  a  dawn  of  Psychic  in 
telligence.  It  is  through  the  soul,  and  not  through  the 
telescope,  that  we  shall  have  news  of  the  Third  planet 
which  men  call  Mars.  It  is  already  in  the  air.  Men  talk 
of  this  red  sphere  with  hope  and  prophecy.  The  time  is 
at  hand;  and  in  the  Temple  of  Mars  is  the  Truth  already 
made  manifest.  The  tidings  are  revealed  !  In  my  hand  I 
hold  the  letter  of  the  Word.  Let  me  read,  then,  what 
says  the  incarnated  Phryko,  Daughter  of  the  Martian  Fire, 
in  her  message  to  Terrenes  : 

"And  in  the  One  Sphere  there  is  a  Fire  and  the  Fire  is  Red. 
Yet  do  purified  spirits  dwell  therein  and  the  One  God.  For  the 
Fire  burns  not  nor  doth  it  consume,  but  is  of  the  Spirit  of  Love. 
From  the  One  Sphere  speedeth  Light  and  Heat  Celestial  to  the 

[233] 


LADY   M EC H ANTE 


Seven  Spheres,  that  the  Children  of  the  Fire  may  be  raised  up 
and  become  purified.  .  .  . 

"For  there  be  Children  of  the  Fire  raised  up  to  their  God  on 
each  Sphere  to  pass  into  the  Celestial  Fire.  From  Flame  to  Flame 
passeth  the  Fire  from  the  One  God  to  Each  God.  To  the  First 
Sphere  the  First  Flame  and  to  the  Second  Sphere  the  Second  Flame. 
But  to  the  First  Sphere  shall  the  Flame  pass  from  the  One  Sphere. 
And  from  the  First  Sphere  to  the  Second  Sphere  and  from  the  Sec 
ond  Sphere  to  the  Third  Sphere  shall  the  Flame  of  the  Fire  pass  till 
Children  of  the  Fire  are  raised  up  in  the  Seven  Spheres. 

"  Now  from  the  First  Sphere  to  the  Second  Sphere  hath  the  Flame 
passed,  and  from  the  Second  Sphere  to  the  Third  Sphere  also. 
And  upon  the  Three  Spheres  Children  of  the  Fire  are  raised  up 
and  are  Purified. 

"  Now  Flameth  the  Fire  from  the  Third  to  the  Fourth  Sphere  ; 
wherefore  rise  up,  O  Children  of  the  Fire,  that  ye  may  know 
Truth. 


"So  saith  the  Book  of  BOSH,  divinely  inspired 'by  the 
Daughter  of  the  Fire,  by  name  PHRYKO,  through  my 
mediumship!  My  conclusions  were  reached  by  allowing 
the  evidences  of  this  revelation  to  multiply  with  mathemat 
ical  certainty,  and  the  lesser  demonstration  to  prove  the 
greater.  That  is,  my  discovery  that  the  Secret  of  the  Fire 
was  passed  from  Sphere  to  Sphere  set  my  mind  to  work  in 
new  channels  and  led  to  my  demonstration  of  the  proposi 
tion  that  Desire  is  Red  ;  that  all  real  Being  is  in  Desire, 
that  Life,  Truth,  and  Love  are  Red,  and  that  the  opposite 
of  Truth,  called  Error,  Sin,  Sickness,  Disease,  and  Death 
are  Blue,  arise  from  mere  Intellect  rather  than  from  Desire, 
the  Verity  of  Redness." 

She  paused,  and  a  whisper  went  around  the  room.  Bon 
nets  nodded,  and  bald  heads  bowed.  The  five  Committee- 

[  234] 


THE   BOOK  .OF  BOSH 


men,  semi-comatose  with  the  abstractions  of  this  whirling 
metaphysic,  tugged  at  their  rolled-gold  watch-chains  and 
tried  to  keep  themselves  awake.  It  was  at  the  tip  of  Roul- 
hac's  tongue  to  entreat  her  to  brevity,  for  the  minute-hand 
of  his  watch  told  of  the  speedy  coming  of  a  wonder.  But 
she  proceeded  : 

"  Color  is  the  Heart  of  Being.  Fire  is  the  embodiment, 
of  which  God  or  Desire  is  the  Soul.  Theorizing  about 
man's  development  from  mushrooms  to  monkeys  and  from 
monkeys  into  men  amounts  to  nothing  in  the  right  direc 
tion,  and  very  much  in  the  wrong.  Spirit  can  form  no  real 
link  in  this  supposed  chain  of  material  Being;  the  stimu 
lation  of  Desire  is  the  only  development  in  the  Soul  History 
of  the  Race.  All  apparent  Phenomena  are  but  the  mani 
festations  of  gross  Mind  or  Intellect.  All  is,  to  the  Martian, 
pure  Red.  To  those  who  perfect  their  Desires,  all  is  Red 
also.  So  I  have  clad  myself  in  Red  as  High  Priestess 
of  the  Fire.  To  the  groveling  brains  of  the  materialists 
it  would  appear  another  color,  but  to  you,  who  are  nearly 
purified,  it  must  appear  at  least  a  delicate  Orange  or 
Citrus." 

The  Committeemen  stared  with  all  their  eyes.  To  them, 
indeed,  the  gown  that  Miss  Mischief  wore  seemed  pale  sky- 
blue,  but  they  dared  not  acknowledge  it,  one  to  the  other. 
In  the  audience  the  devotees  spoke  in  undertones,  affirming 
the  hue  of  the  skirt ;  it  was  indubitably  red  to  them,  though 
some  felt  a  gash  of  pain  at  the  apparent  ascendency  of 
their  brutal  intellects.  Miss  Mischief  again  opened  the 
Book  of  Bosh  and  began  to  read  aloud,  when  she  was 
rudely  interrupted  by  a  whacking  blow  at  the  window-pane 
that  startled  the  Committee  into  a  change  of  legs.  Brag- 
hampton  rushed  to  the  window  and  threw  up  the  sash. 

[235] 


LADT 


More  raps  fell  upon  the  ceiling  and  walls,  and  with  a  fierce 
cry  in  the  Martian  tongue,  a  being  appeared  outside  the 
window,  dangling  in  the  air. 

It  descended  slowly,  laboriously,  as  if  in  great  pain. 
Now  it  set  three  feet  upon  the  sill,  and  now  it  bounded  in 
and  capered  upon  the  floor  of  the  assembly  hall,  in  full 
of  the  Committee,  the  Petitioners,  and  the  Remon 


strants,  who,  banded  together  in  a  sulky  group  at  one  side 
of  the  chamber,  had  been  impatiently  awaiting  the  end  of 
the  High  Priestess's  harangue. 

Bedight  in  a  harlequin  attire  of  orange-red,  with  three 
half-naked  legs  and  skinny  arms  of  the  same  bloody  hue, 
bald-headed  and  without  visible  means  of  mastication,  leering 
and  gibbering,  the  Martian  envoy  to  the  Great  and  General 
Court  of  Massachusetts  pranced  and  rolled  along  the  rail  in 
front  of  the  Committee  and  spat  out  mouthfuls  of  fire  at 
every  revolution.  He  paused  for  a  moment  with  a  gesture 
of  his  chin  and  looked  at  Roulhac.  The  young  man  from 
San  Francisco  sprang  to  the  rostrum. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  Committee,"  he  cried,  "  what  more 
need  we  sav  to  prove  the  overwhelming  importance  of  this 
petition  ?  Behold  here  in  your  very  midst  the  proof  of 
our  claims  !  Here,  in  visible  embodiment  is  a  messenger 
from  the  Third  Sphere  which  men  call  Mars.  And  behold 
he  is  very  Red.  Let  me  interrogate  him,  that  he  may  con 
firm  the  tidings  of  Phryko  !  " 

From  the  Martian's  mouth  appeared  forks  of  red  flame. 
His  bloodshot  eyes  roved,  and  he  moved  ever  nearer  the  door. 

Suddenly  from  the  back  of  the  hall  rose  a  cry  of  rage. 
"  Fake  !  Fake  !  "  roared  a  voice,  and  springing  to  his  feet  and 
pushing  women  down  in  his  vehemence,  a  man  came  bellow 
ing  up  the  crowded  aisle.  He  was  dark,  with  a  blue  shadow 

[236] 


THE   BOOK   OF  BOSH 


across    his    unshaved    chin,    horridly   haggard,   hispid    with 
rage    and     menace.        He     spoke    with    a    weird    Slavonic 


dialect    and    brandished    a 
the    assembly.      "  Fake  ! 


fierce    fist    over    the    heads    of 
Fake  !  "     he     cried     again     and 


"  Barowich  !  "  screamed  Miss  Mischief. 

Roulhac  turned  ;  and  then  with  a  cry  in  Martian  to  the 
three-legged  creature  cowering  by  the  rail,  he  started  to 
intercept  the  progress  of  the  mysterious  malcontent.  The 
Martian,  whinnying  with  terror,  blowing  flames  and  smoke 
from  his  writhing  mouth,  forced  his  way  towards  the  door. 
The  crowd  made  a  slim  way  for  him,  though  the  contin 
gent  of  remonstrants,  chortling  with  fury,  rose  en  masse  and 
struggled  to  head  him  off. 

Roulhac  and  Barowich  met  in  the  center  of  the  room 
and  closed  in  a  mighty  struggle.  The  Committeemen,  now 
thoroughly  awake,  jumped  up  and  elbowed  their  way  towards 
the  melee  in  the  corridor.  The  chairman,  he  from  King 
ston,  led  the  way  with  an  oath,  shrieking  for  the  populace  to 
arrest  the  intruder,  the  three-legged  miserable,  who  nowT, 
tearing  at  coats  and  mantles,  swiping  off  hats  and  bonnets, 
clutching  skirts  and  trousers,  tore  his  way  through  the  press 
and  raced  up  the  corridor. 

With  a  throaty  sob  of  frenzy,  the  crowd  of  spectators 
plunged  after  the  fugitive,  headed  by  the  Member  from 
Kingston,  yelling  to  heaven  for  the  Sergeant-at-Arms. 
Past  the  central  hall,  where  are  exhibited  the  colors  taken 
in  the  Civil  War,  past  marble  statue  and  bronze  tablet,  flew 
this  human  comet,  with  the  Martian,  like  a  fiercely  burn 
ing  star  at  its  head,  with  a  riot  of  frightened  females  in  his 
wake,  and  a  hurtling  conglomeration  of  combatants  over 
whelming  them.  A  trail  of  veils,  belts,  purses,  and  hats 

[237] 


LADT   M EC H ANTE 


marked  the  passage  of  this  whirlwind.  Down  the  tessel 
lated  corridor,  up  the  broad  stairs,  it  passed. 

The  Senate  was  in  session.  A  member  from  Duxbury 
had  arisen  and  had  just  begun  to  read  his  maiden  effort.  It 
was  entitled  "An  Act  to  Amend  an  Act  to  Regulate  the 

D 

Propagation  of  Clams  and  Ouahogs  in  Plymouth  Bay  and 
Vicinity."  He  had  but  begun  to  attain  his  presence  of 
mind,  after  floundering  in  the  verbiage  of  the  first  clause  of 
his  bill,  when  the  green  swinging  doors  of  the  Senate 
Chamber  were  flung  violently  open.  In  an  instant  the 
chamber  was  flooded  with  a  surging  sea  of  agonized  human 
ity,  swarming  through  the  narrow  opening,  flying  the  ragged 
colors  of  Tatterdermalia.  A  short  length  ahead  of  this 
rabble  flew  a  shocking  form,  running,  rolling,  stumbling  on 
three  legs,  one  of  which  seemed  palsied  with  his  haste. 
This  atrocious  object  hurdled  members'  desks,  and  over 
threw  books  and  inkstands  in  spatters  of  writing  fluid.  One 
after  one  the  senators  in  his  path  were  swept  from  their 
chairs  and  crawled  underneath  the  tables  to  escape  the  tor 
rent  that  swept  after  him.  Over  the  Speaker's  rail,  across 
the  rostrum  on  the  platform,  dashing  down  gas  lamps  and 
leaving  fragments  of  his  costume  here  and  there  like  the 
spoor  of  a  hunted  hyena,  the  Martian  bounded  and  the  mad- 
eyed  throng  pelted  in  pursuit. 

Upstairs  and  along  the  upper  halls  the  outrageous  man 
hunt  raged.  The  Member  from  Kingston  had  thrown 
off  coat  and  vest,  and  the  St.  Andrew's  cross  of  his 
red  suspenders  against  the  milk-white  field  of  his  shirt  led 
the  way  like  a  guidon  to  the  charge.  Behind  him  the 
Honorable  Members  from  Hull  and  Northfield  galloped 
and  swore,  and  stringing  down  hall  and  stair,  plung 
ing  through  door  and  entry,  scattered  the  handicapped 


THE   BOOK    OF  BOSH 


slowpokes  of  the  procession,  still  steaming  after  the 
refugee. 

In  the  third  story,  at  the  end  of  a  long  narrow  corridor, 
the  half-crazed  Martian  came  upon  a  small  door.  It  was 
locked,  but  the  key  was  twinkling  in  its  hole.  In  an  instant 
it  was  whipped  out,  the  door  was  opened  ;  the  lithe  form 
of  the  visitant  slid  through  and  snapped  was  the  lock  in  the 
closed  portal.  It  was  just  in  time.  The  Member  from 
Kingston  laid  hand  on  the  knob  just  as  the  bolt  clicked; 
at  his  terrific  wrench  the  china  handle  came  off,  and 
the  reaction  landed  him  on  his  back  on  the  floor,  where 
he  was  nearly  trampled  to  death  by  the  surging  chorus 
which  followed  him.  The  mob  penned  in  this  narrow 
space  jammed  the  whole  hall,  and  for  five  minutes  no  one 
could  move  an  elbow.  Their  shrieks,  however,  in  time 
warned  the  rearward  strugglers  to  make  way,  and  by 
degrees  the  crowd  thinned  and  permitted  the  Sergeant-at- 
Arms  to  force  his  way  to  the  door  and  open  the  lock. 
Now  burst  the  charge  anew  up  the  winding  stair,  through 
the  cavernous  hollow  of  the  dome,  and  up  the  spiral  to  the 
upper  cupola. 

When  the  Sergeant-at-Arms,  the  policeman,  and  the 
members  from  Hull  and  Kingston  reached  the  cupola  cham 
ber,  it  was  empty,  save  of  a  few  rags,  and  a  sponge  stained 
a  bloody  red.  A  bucket  of  water  was  of  the  same  suspicious 
hue,  but  of  human  occupants  the  room  had  none.  The 
searchers  opened  the  windows  and  gazed  down  upon  the 
huge  hemisphere  of  gilded  dome.  It  was  uninhabitated, 
though  upon  the  bulbs  of  the  incandescent  lights  that  punc 
tuated  the  circle  at  its  foot  there  fluttered  a  few  fragments 
of  red  cloth.  The  pursuers  were  nonplussed.  Finally  the 
policeman,  craning  his  neck  out  of  the  window,  felt  a  spat- 

[239] 


LADT   M EC H ANTE 


ter  upon  his  neck.  He  wiped  it  with  his  hand  and  perceived 
a  dash  of  white  paint  upon  his  fingers.  Then,  looking  up, over 
the  round  roof  of  the  cupola,  he  saw  what  the  crowd  below, 
gathered  in  Beacon  Street  opposite  the  Shaw  Memorial,  saw. 
They  blocked  the  thoroughfare,  and  all  eyes  were  aimed 
upward.  The  policeman  gave  a  cry,  and  it  was  answered 
by  a  cheer  from  the  street.  The  Sergeant-at-Arms  and  the 
Members  from  Hull  and  Kingston  shot  their  heads,  also, 
through  the  windows  and  gazed  skyward. 

There,  at  the  very  top  of  the  flagpole,  slung  from  the 
halliards  sat  a  painter  in  jumper  and  overalls  daubing  the 
staff  with  white  lead.  Thirty  feet  above  them,  swinging  in 
perilous  mid-air,  he  looked  down  at  the  passion-branded 
visages  below,  and  gayly  flicked  his  brush.  Like  white  rain 
the  drops  fell  into  the  eyes  and  ears  of  the  Committee. 
"  Come  down  out  of  that !  "  they  yelled  ;  and  the  policeman 
brandished  his  club  with  authority. 

Now  slowly,  deliberately,  descended  Bounder,  lowering 
himself  with  caution  down  the  halliards.  He  crawled 
over  the  curve  of  the  roof,  guiding  his  feet  one  after 
the  other  with  precision  to  the  steps  nailed  to  the  copper 
sheathing.  He  navigated  the  ledge  and  handed  his  paint 
pot  and  brush  to  the  waiting  delegation.  Then  he 
stepped  through  the  window  and  hopped  with  a  snicker 
to  the  floor. 

The  battery  of  inquisitors  opened  a  fire  of  questions. 
The  interrogations  went  off  like  the  corns  in  a  popper.  But 
Bounder  took  his  time.  He  wiped  a  smooch  of  white  from 
his  brow  with  the  back  of  his  wrist,  and  he  wiped  the  back 
of  his  wrist  on  the  seat  of  his  overalls.  Then  he  opened 
his  mouth  to  speak. 

"  Yep,"  he  said,  u  I  seen   him.      He  came  to  this   here 

[  240] 


THE   BOOK   OF  BOSH 


window  and  he  yelled  like  a  mad  dog.  He  crorled  onto 
the  sill  and  I  seen  he  had  three  laigs  like  a  bloomin' 
giraffe,  and  then,  whoop  !  jumped  outer  winder  and  flew 
up  inter  the  sky  like  a  bird !  And  that 's  all  I  know 
about  it  !  " 


Sht 


Chapter  Cm 

THE    TEMPLE    OF   MARS 

.    lives  in  mists  and  smokes  where  none  can  find  her. 

(Rule  a  Wife  and  Have  a  Wife.) 


HE  miraculous  disappearance  of  the  Martian 
made  an  enormous  sensation.  Bounder's 
cool-headed  ruse  in  donning  the  uniform  of 
a  house-painter  and  hoisting  himself  to  the 
top  of  the  flagpole  with  pot  and  brush  had 
saved  the  day  against  huge  odds.  If  Mar 
tian  Science  were  at  its  darkest  just  before  that  spectacular 
dawn,  its  day  now  burst  into  legislative  effulgence  unlocked 
for  even  by  the  inner  council  of  the  cult.  Miss  Mischief's 
rhetoric  had  driven  the  nail  of  logic  into  the  thick  skulls  of 
the  committeemen,  and  Bounder's  coup  d'etat  had  clinched 
the  argument  in  their  pates.  They  had  been  proven  ma 
terialists  by  the  evidence  of  Miss  Mischiefs  blue  gown. 
Well,  as  materialists  they  had  been  given  confirmation  by 
their  senses  in  the  disappearance  of  the  Martian  envoy,  who 
had,  according  to  definite  testimony,  plunged  into  space 
and  had  regained  his  planetary  home  from  the  cupola  of  the 
State  House.  The  cupola  was  still  there  to  witness  the 
translation  of  this  new  Elijah  ! 

The  Martian  Bill,  therefore,  backed  by  these  five  prose 
lytes,  was  rushed  through  a  first  and  second  reading  ;  the 
debate  was  made  upon  the  question  of  public  policy,  and 
patriotism  prevailed.  It  was  well  proven  that,  if  Massachu- 

[242] 


THE    TEMPLE    OF  MARS 


setts  did  not  avail  herself  of  the  divine  possibilities  of  Mar 
tian  aid,  some  other  state  would  reap  the  benefit.  Delegates 
from  Kansas  and  South  Dakota  had  appeared  to  lobby 
against  the  bill  and  secure  for  the  Far  West  the  prestige  of 
initiating  the  New  Era  of  Thought.  It  needed  but  this 
rivalry  to  carry  the  act.  The  era  of  psychic  science  was 
dawning,  and  the  Bay  State  stood  boldly,  at  last,  by  an  over 
mastering  majority  for  the  new  epoch  of  transplanetary 
Truth.  Licence  was  given  the  Martian  College  of  Psychic 
Science  to  confer  degrees,  the  Temple  was  subsidized  and 
exempted  from  taxes,  and  a  generous  appropriation  was 
granted  for  the  development  of  systematic  research  in  the 
psychic  laboratory  of  the  High  Priestess. 

As  Miss  Mischief  had  predicted,  the  Cult  of  Mars  now 
became  a  rage,  an  epidemic,  a  crusade.  The  Temple 
boiled  with  ardent  believers  lashed  into  an  almost  Mahom 
etan  bigotry  with  the  scourging  texts  of  the  Book  of  Bosh. 
The  movement  stood,  not  only  for  a  religion,  but  for  a 
definite  reform.  It  was  consecrated,  not  to  the  good  of  the 
individual,  but  to  the  development  of  the  race.  It  was  no 
mere  system  of  medicine,  though  that  too  was  included  in 
its  work,  but  it  stood  for  pure  Science  — anew  Philosophy, 
Mathematics,  Physics,  everything.  Its  claims  were  as  huge 
as  the  Cosmos  itself.  The  Gospel  of  the  Flame  was  in  its 
first  effect  intoxicating — it  needed  the  digestion  of  analytic 
feeling  rather  than  any  process  of  coarse  reason. 

Temples  were  instituted  in  outlying  suburbs  to  accommo 
date  the  increasing  demands  put  upon  the  official  head 
quarters  of  the  High  Priestess,  and  over  these  members  of 
the  higher  Orders  were  placed  in  charge.  The  Spiral 
Arched  Whorl  constituted  the  caste  mark  of  this  hierarchy 
of  the  Minor  Priestcraft,  and  these  ministered  through  the 

[243] 


LADT  MECHANTE 


direct  inspiration  of  the  Book  of  Bosh.  In  that  volume 
everything  essential  to  terrestrial  progress  had  been  laid 
down.  Extemporaneous  speaking  was  prohibited.  The 
authority  of  the  High  Priestess  was  sacred  and  absolute. 
When  she  entered  a  Temple,  the  whole  audience  arose  and 
stood  with  eyes  cast  down  until  she  had  taken  her  place. 
Her  effigy  was  portrayed  in  stained  glass  and  marble  bust, 
and  texts  from  the  Book  of  Bosh  appeared  streaming  from 
her  mouth  in  the  symbolistic  engravings  of  the  "  Martian 
Monthly." 

But,  as  the  weeks  went  on,  she  was  seen  less  and  less 
frequently.  The  revenues  from  the  sale  of  the  Book,  at 
five  dollars  per  copy,  printed  on  India  paper,  had  swollen 
her  treasury.  Times  were  prosperous  with  Madelaine 
Mischief.  She  lived,  now,  in  a  villa  at  Manchester-by-the- 
Sea,  and  she  went  and  came  in  special  trains,  appearing  and 
disappearing  in  Boston,  with  the  exclusive  mystery  of  a 
reigning  monarch.  Roulhac's  protestations  were  of  no 
avail,  and  she  kept  him  to  his  post  at  the  First  Temple  of 
Mars  with  the  implacability  of  a  slave-driver.  At  each 
revolt  she  soothed  him  with  glitteringly  slippery  promises 
and  riveted  his  chains  anew.  The  wedding  should  come 
off,  she  promised  him,  when  she  was  ready,  and  not  before. 

He  assuaged  his  impatience  with  cordial  doses  of  Hetty 
Hattitude.  She,  at  least,  was  willing  to  prescribe,  and  her 
companionship  was  tonic.  Did  he  know  what  he  did 
want  ?  Perhaps  not.  He  was  so  used  to  driving  four-in- 
hand  that  sometimes  he  trembled  to  think  of  traveling  with 
a  single  companion,  and  especially  at  the  break-neck  pace 
Miss  Mischief  would  be  likely  to  set  for  him.  Miss  Hatti 
tude,  now,  gave  him  her  whole  worship.  She  did  not  blow 
hot  and  blow  cold,  she  did  not  put  him  off  and  take  him 

[244] 


THE    TEMPLE    OF  MARS 


on,  when  the  mood  pleased  her.  And  so  he  floated  in  an 
eddy  of  doubt. 

Meanwhile  Bounder,  despite  his  desperate  victory  in  the 
State  House,  seemed  tormented  with  a  secret  fear.  "  Who 
is  this  Barowich  ?  "  he  asked  Roulhac  one  day. 

"  Oh,  he 's  a  San  Francisco  Nemesis,"  was  the  reply. 
"  We  rather  had  it  in  for  him  there,  and  he  seems  anxious 
to  get  even  with  us." 

The  answer  affected  Bounder  uncomfortably,  and  he 
withdrew  to  his  own  office.  But  the  sudden  and  nearly 
disastrous  apparition  of  the  ex-waiter  of  Campi's  had  more 
meaning  to  him  than  the  rest  of  the  cabal  were  aware. 
As  yet  nothing  concerning  the  Licences  or  Indulgences 
uttered  by  Bounder  had  transpired.  He  still  plied  the 
traffic  in  secret,  hoarding  his  winnings  till  the  time  should 
come  when  he  could  break  away  from  this  rigamarole  and 
decamp  with  his  profits.  But  he  had  recognized  in  the 
Slav  a  hideous  menace  to  his  plans.  He  searched  his 
memory  for  evidence,  and  he  went  over  his  personal  ac 
counts  with  his  victims.  At  last,  after  much  introspection, 
he  was  able  to  put  his  memory  and  his  notes  together  and 
add  up  the  threatening  amount.  It  was  a  curse;  to  Baro 
wich  he  had,  some  weeks  previous,  sold  a  permit  to  steal  to 
the  enormous  amount  of  a  million  of  dollars.  Such  a 
grand  larceny  as  this  would  undoubtedly  make  a  stir.  The 
theft  would  be  traced,  and  Bounder  himself  might  be  impli 
cated.  He  must  escape  before  the  crime  was  perpetrated. 
Perhaps  it  was  even  now  too  late,  and  detectives  were  on 
his  trail. 

He  went  to  the  safe  where  the  community  assets  were 
kept,  and  where  also,  in  a  separate  compartment,  he 
hoarded  his  own  resources.  The  annual  appropriation 


LADT   MECHANTE 


from  the  legislature  had  been  paid  by  the  State  Treasurer, 
and  had  been  converted  into  specie  for  distribution  to  the 
different  sub-temples.  This,  with  contributions,  donations, 
and  subscriptions,  the  takings  from  the  sales  of  the  Book 
of  Bosh  and  other  sources,  added  up  to  something  like 
$789,040  in  safe  and  easily  negotiable  securities.  His 
own  fortune  ran  up  to  some  $210,960.  It  was  almost  a 
competence.  As  soon  as  he  had  secured  for  himself  a  full 
quarter  of  a  million  he  would  disappear,  quit  the  conspir 
acy,  and  fly  high  on  Piccadilly  again.  He  locked  the  com 
bination,  with  this  comforting  assurance,  and  quieted  his 
fears. 

Mortimer  Stencill  alone  seemed  to  take  the  swelling 
bubble  of  the  Martian  cult  calmly.  Mortimer  was  a 
philosopher  of  sorts.  His  dreams  were  all  subjective. 
Active,  whenever  that  pose  seemed  to  be  on  the  whole 
worth  while,  he  was  at  his  best  in  a  passive  state  in  his 
slippers  before  the  fire,  or  gazing  upon  the  easily  found 
spectacle  of  the  Fool  at  Large.  He  was  not  averse  to 
lending  a  quiet  hand  at  any  game  that  promised  diversion, 
but  his  work  was  preferably  behind  the  scenes.  He  was 
fond  of  humming  the  refrain  of  a  Rochester  poet  and 
dreamer  : 

*'  I  love  to  watch  the  pictures  of  the  things  inside  of  me  !  " 

His  wife  afforded  him  perpetual  amusement.  She  was 
curiously  anxious  for  his  pleasure  and  incited  him  repeat 
edly  to  endeavor,  but  with  little  result.  He  was  for  a 
game  of  solitaire,  and  there  his  queens  were  all  alike;  there 
are  no  trumps  in  "  Patience."  Roberta  he  watched  with 
a  mild  scrutiny,  but  held  his  hand.  He  did  not  warn  the 
young  Braghampton  that  peril  was  in  store  for  him,  though 

[246] 


THE    TEMPLE    OF   MARS 


he  knew  well  enough  that  his  wife  was  not  in  secret 
council  with  the  Hi";h  Priestess  for  nothing.  He  did  not 

O  O 

mention  to  the  San  Francisco  youth  that  Mrs.  Stencill  had 
made  several  hasty  trips  to  Manchester-by-the-Sea,  nor 
that  a  match-maker  cares  not  whom  she  entangles  in  the 
toils  of  matrimony  so  long  as  she  can  make  a  victim  of 
somebody. 

A  manifesto  finally  came  from  the  retreat  of  the  High 
Priestess  in  the  form  of  a  specific  interpretation  to  a  much 
discussed  chapter  of  the  Book  of  Bosh.  It  was  given,  with 
out  comment,  to  Roulhac  Braghampton  for  publication  and, 
as  he  read  it,  his  eyes  watered. 

u  It  is  written,"  it  went,  u  in  the  Seventy-seventh  Chap 
ter  of  the  Book  of  Bosh  that  c  the  Gospel  of  the  Fire  shall 
be  revealed  by  a  Woman  and  a  Man  from  the  Third  Sphere, 
coming  in  Flame  to  arouse  the  Children  of  the  Fire.  By 
them  shall  the  Word  come  and  the  Truth  be  made  mani 
fest.  And  they  shall  have  dominion  over  the  Fourth  Sphere 
and  pass  on  the  Flame.  And  the  Two  Flames  shall  be 
One  Flame  and  shall  burn  withal.' 

"  Now  the  time  for  this  union,  predicted  of  Phryko,  has 
come,  and  the  union  of  the  High  Priestess  with  the  incarnate 
Flame  shall  come  to  pass  upon  the  Third  Day  of  July  ap 
proaching.  Wherefore  shall  all  Believers  in  the  Fire  be 
summoned  to  witness  the  Ritual  of  the  Union  of  the  Flames 
that  the  one  Flame  which  is  Red  shall  burn  upon  the  Fourth 
Sphere." 

Right  gayly  did  the  bridegroom  set  out  to  share  his  rap 
ture  with  his  promised  bride,  but  Miss  Mischief  kept  herself 
aloof  by  hook  and  crook  with  a  teasing  shrewdness.  Not 
till  the  day  before  the  ordeal  did  she  appear  at  the  Temple, 
but  there  Roulhac  found  her  in  the  upper  Mysterium,  clos- 


LADY   M EC H ANTE 


eted  with  Roberta  Stencill  and  Miss  Hattitucle.  The  three, 
surprised  at  his  entrance,  looked  up  guiltily  enough,  but 
Miss  Mischief  composed  them,  and  entered  into  the  discus 
sion  of  the  ceremony,  without  allowing  herself  to  be  cate 
chized.  The  wedding  was  to  be  solemnized  at  noon, 
according  to  the  great  sidereal  clock,  before  a  gathering  of 
the  original  members  of  the  First  Temple  of  Mars.  The 
groom  was  to  enter  and  await  his  bride  before  the  red  altar, 
where  the  flame  burned  day  and  night,  and  the  High  Priest 
ess,  robed  and  veiled  in  red,  was  to  come  separately  from  the 
conical  tower  above.  Guy  Bounder,  licenced  and  duly  or 
dained  as  a  Minor  Priest  of  the  Order  of  the  Seven-Headed 
Salamander,  was  to  administer  the  ritual.  Mrs.  Burlap  and 
Mrs.  Essery,  representing  the  laity,  were  to  offer  the  alle 
giance  of  the  cult  to  the  United  Priests  of  the  Fire ;  and 
Mortimer  Stencill,  presiding  at  the  keys  of  the  color  organ, 
was  to  provide  the  accessories. 

After  these  details  had  been  arranged  and  rehearsed,  Roul- 
hac  found  himself  at  last  with  Miss  Mischief  in  the  gloom 
of  the  immense  audience  room.  They  sat  together 


in   si- 


he  believed 


lence  for  a  while,  and   she  did  not    reprove   him   when  he 
slipped  his  hand  into  hers. 

"  And  do  you  really  love  me,  foolish  boy  ?  "  said  Miss 
Mischief. 

"  Yes,"    said   Roulhac,  and   without    doubt 
it.      He  gazed  at  her  hungrily,  at  any  rate. 

"  Yet  you  have  loved  many,"  said  the  slender  girl  at  his 
side,  turning  away  her  eyes. 

"Indeed  I  have,"  he  replied.  "I  have  loved  Lady 
Mechante,  I  have  loved  Kitty  Carmine,  and  the  Countess 
Rouge,  and  Florizelle  Gaillarde,  and  Cicely  P'ex,  and  Celestine 
Jewburg,  and  Madelaine  Mischief!  " 

[248] 


THE    TEMPLE    OF  M^RS 


"  And  Hetty  Hattitude  ?  "  queried  the  lady  with  the  many 
names. 

"  She  is  a  Bostonian,"  he  answered,  fingering  a  button. 
"  She  has  impressed  me,  I  admit,  but  I  have  given  her  only 
the  fealty  of  my  intellect.  But  why  mention  Hetty  ?  " 

"You  must  love  her  !  "  was  the  reply.  u  But  you  must 
love  me  better  !  Kiss  me  !  " 

"  No,  no  !  "  cried  Roulhac,  wildly.  "  I  have  kissed  you 
but  once  and  in  that  kiss  I  lost  you.  Not  till  we  are  mar 
ried  and  I  am  sure  of  you  shall  I  dare  try  it  again  !  " 

Miss  Mischief  arose,  and  with  a  sign  to  Roulhac  not  to 
follow  her,  left  the  hall.  There  was  a  look  upon  her  face 
as  if  she  had  discovered  a  fly  in  the  cream. 

The  third  of  July  was  hot  and  still.  The  thermometer 
climbed  up  and  up,  as  if  the  weather  were  to  testify  to  the 
coming  of  the  universal  gospel  of  Fire.  Across  Copley 
Square  delegation  after  delegation  marched  towards  the  red 
brick  cone  of  the  First  Temple  of  Mars.  The  audience 
chamber  filled,  and  still  the  members  from  the  country  ar 
rived,  till  the  steps,  sidewalks,  and  courtyard  were  packed 
with  Martian  Scientists. 

In  the  hall  the  vast  throng,  hushed  into  silence  by  the 
solemnity  of  the  coming  service,  sat  and  in  the  twilight  of 
the  shaded  windows  watched  the  shifting  harmonies  of  color 
that  came  and  went  upon  the  black  screen.  As  the  sidereal 
clock  pealed  forth  the  meridian,  the  tones  grew  more  and 
more  vivid,  till,  at  last,  bathed  in  a  fierce  red  light,  Roulhac 
Braghampton,  clad  in  the  velvet  robes  of  the  Supreme  Order 
of  the  Fire  of  iYtars,  stepped  forth  upon  the  platform  in  the 
center  of  the  hall  and  took  his  place  beside  the  flaming 
altar.  Guy  Bounder,  crowned  with  the  abacot  of  the  seven- 

[  249  ] 


LADY  MECHANTE 


headed  salamander,  drew  to  his  side  and  mustered  what  dig 
nity  he  could  in  the  thousand  eyes  of  the  congregation. 
They  were  not,  however,  for  long  pointed  in  his  direction. 

The  secret  door  leading  to  the  stairway  opened,  and  the 
High  Priestess,  garbed  in  flowing  red,  appeared  in  the  arch, 
stood  for  a  moment  against  the  shadow,  and  then  came  up 
the  aisle,  followed  by  Mrs.  Burlap  and  Mrs.  Esscry  in  black 
bonnets.  It  was  not  imperative,  in  the  ritual  of  Mars,  that 
bridesmaids  should  be  virgins. 

The  ceremony  proceeded.  Bounder  outdid  himself.  The 
audience  was  impressed,  and  many  wept.  In  the  silence 
following  the  first  responses  was  heard  the  trotting  of  a 
horse's  hoofs,  two  horses  in  fact.  There  was  also  the 
scrape  of  a  wheel  skiving  a  curbstone.  Then  all  was  still 
again,  and  the  service  went  on. 

The  bride,  still  veiled,  spoke  her  answers  in  a  low, 
maidenly  voice,  unlike  the  ordinary  assertiveness  of  Miss 
Mischief.  Roulhac  was  supremely  himself,  a  hero  in  his 
own  eyes,  and  seemed  worthy  the  dignity  of  alliance  with 
this  red-robed  Daughter  of  the  Fire.  The  time  at  last 
came  for  the  wife  to  throw  off  her  veil  and  salute  the 
throng.  This  she  did  with  an  august  fling  of  her  arm,  and 
stood  revealed  as  she  who,  but  a  half  minute  ago,  had  been 
Miss  Hetetia  Hattitude,  now  the  plighted  spouse  of  Roulhac 
Braghampton. 

Upon  Roulhac  the  revelation  fell  with  an  almost  stunning 
force.  Bounder  could  not  believe  his  eyes.  Mrs.  Burlap 
stared  and  Mrs.  Esscry  tottered  in  a  fainting  spell.  But 
the  High  Priestess  gave  the  spectators  no  time  to  express 
their  astonishment.  With  a  wave  of  her  hand  she  com 
pelled  silence,  and  drawing  from  a  fold  of  her  gown  a 
scroll,  she  read  the  following  words  : 

[  25°] 


THE    TEMPLE    OF  MARS 


"  Know  ye,  Children  of  the  Fire,  and  members  of 
the  Temples  of  Mars  by  me  instituted  and  all  others  of 
the  Cult,  that  this  day  1,  Madelaine  Mischief,  resign  the 
office  of  High  Priest  and  hereby  confer  it  upon  her  who 
shall  proclaim  these  presents.  The  time  is  at  hand  when 
my  work  shall  be  accomplished.  The  Science,  fully  and 
well  ordained,  has  made  its  way  despite  threat  and  persecu 
tion,  and,  wearied  with  the  labor  of  directing  its  energies,  1 
have  renounced  my  office,  never  to  return.  Labor  ye  in 
the  vineyard  that  I  have  planted,  that  the  whole  Truth  be 
made  known  and  the  Fourth  Sphere  attain  the  full  Flame  of 
the  Fire.  When  at  last  the  time  shall  come  for  the  flame  to 
be  passed  on  to  the  Fifth  Sphere  which  men  call  Saturn,  then 
shall  I  be  reembodied  and  direct  the  communication.  Peace., 
and  Desire  forever  !  " 

Threading  the  wondering  worshipers  who  murmured 
together  at  the  news,  the  dazed  Braghampton  and  his  bride 
passed  up  the  aisle,  through  the  arch,  and  climbed  the  stair 
way  to  the  Mysterium. 


Chapter  Clebm 

BOUNDER'S  APOTHEOSIS 

Did  your  eyes  ever  taste  like  clown  of  him  ? 

(Every  Man  in  his  Humour.) 

HE  pair  were  at  last  alone  in  the  conical 
apartment  of  the  High  Priestess.  Roulhac, 
who  from  the  moment  of  the  metamorpho 
sis  in  his  bride  had  said  no  word,  and  had 
well  hidden  his  surprise  from  the  congrega 
tion,  turned  to  the  slight  airy  witch  at  his 
side.  She  had  indeed  done  quaintly  so  to  outwit  him  and 
to  marry  him  despite  himself.  He  could  not  but  smile  at 
her  knavery,  though  the  memory  of  the  prettier  wretch, 
her  accomplice,  pricked  him  where  his  heart  had  been. 

But  Hetty's  bravado  had  now  broken.  The  achieve 
ment  of  the  end  she  had  for  so  long  worked  left  her  hysteri 
cal,  and  she  was  no  sooner  in  the  room  than  she  fell  to 
crying.  To  her  young  husband  she  wept  poniards.  He 
was  not  one  to  resist  such  feminine  entreaty.  After  all,  it 
was  Fate.  The  marriage  had  been  decided  for  him.  The 
weather-vane  of  his  heart  would  now  no  longer  shuffle  him 
this  way  and  that;  the  wind  had  set  forever  in  Hetty's 
favor.  Miss  Mischief  had  disappeared,  and  Roulhac  knew 
with  what  energy  she  augmented  her  decisions.  She  was 
not  for  him,  nor  ever  could  be.  Something  new  was  born 
in  his  soul;  he  was  steadied  as  if,  after  much  zig-zag 
drifting  and  circumlocution,  he  had  dropped  anchor.  Made- 

[252] 


BOUNDER'S    APOTHEOSIS 


laine's  spirit  was  too  fine  and  impalpable,  too  audacious 
and  fantastic  for  permanent  safety.  He  saw  that,  now, 
and  the  personality  of  Hetty  began  to  assert  itself.  She 
was  a  warm,  brown  little  woman,  and  in  spite  of  her  Puri 
tan  ancestry  she  was  burning  with  temperament.  So  they 
scrutinized  each  other,  like  two  babi'es  making  acquaintance. 
She  had  thrown  herself  upon  a  couch,  while  he  had  assumed 
the  posture  of  outraged  dignity.  From  this,  his  attitude 
had  slowly  sloped  towards  magnanimity,  to  extenuation, 
till  it  had  reached  a  generous  gratitude.  From  this  mood 
he  sprang  into  her  arms  and  was  smothered  in  roses.  .  .  . 

"  Roulhac,"  she  whisperejd  after  a  time,  "  I  must  make 
a  confession  ;  I  have  a  secret  to  tell  you.  I  have  always 
been  ashamed  of  it,  for  I  was  proud  to  be  called  a  typical 
Bostonian,  of  Puritan  blood.  But  somehow  you  make 
me  think  that  you  might  forgive  the  adulteration.  My 
grandmother  was  Portuguese  ! "  And  she  covered  her 
face. 

Roulhac  Braghampton's  heart  exploded  in  kisses.  She 
had,  then,  red  blood,  and  at  the  revelation  he  burst  into 

flames. 

******* 

In  the  quiet  of  that  hot  afternoon  the  two  voyaged 
through  Paradise,  and  almost  out  of  sight  of  the  land,  upon 
that  Sea  of  Dreams,  the  monstrous  developments  of  the 
last  few  months  gleamed  far  and  faint  upon  the  horizon. 
The  world  receded.  The  strenuous  endeavors  of  the 
winter,  the  complications  of  the  intellectual  prodigy  they 
had  travailed  for,  the  activities  of  organization,  the  in 
volved  machinery  of  the  Cult  of  Mars,  now  seemed  so 
little  in  comparison  with  their  new  bliss  that  it  was  all 

[253] 


LADT   M EC H ANTE 


drowned  in  a  corner  of  Hetty's  first  small  tear.  The  High 
Priestess  herself  had  abandoned  the  movement.  It  had 
reached  its  climax  ;  it  had  gone  up  like  a  huge  hot-air  bal 
loon,  flaming  resplendent  through  the  night  of  Boston's 
sober  reason.  Should  they  wait  alone  till  the  fire  burned 
out,  and  the  charred  airship  ceased  its  ascent,  wavered,  and 
began  to  drop? 

A  thousand  times,  No !  They  resolved  to  leave  the 
bark  with  all  sails  set,  climb  over  the  side,  and  let  the  Cult 
of  Mars  plunge  forward  to  ruin  alone,  wrecking  with  a 
magnificent  disaster. 

u  Hetty,"  said  Roulhac,  u  we  '11  off  to  the  Southern  Seas  ! 
There,  in  the  land  of  the  raw-boned  pineapple,  where  the 
uncombed  cocoanut  defies  the  digestion,  where  bananas 
grow  upon  every  tree  like  bunches  of  red  and  yellow  fire 
crackers,  and  the  simpering  natives  go  clad  in  a  subcuta 
neous  garment  of  blue  ink,  there  shall  we  make  our  home  ! 
There  on  some  coral  islet,  where  the  booming  billows  of 
the  reef  peal  forth  the  table  d'hote  hour  for  sharks,  where 
the  loveliest  ladies  have  faces  like  patterns  for  rag-carpets, 
and  brave  warriors  dye  their  hair  in  vegetable  soup,  where 
the  missionary  on  his  prayer-bones  beseeches  the  Grand 
Panjandrum  to  accept  the  honor  of  a  bicep  of  mansteak  a 
la  Corbett,  where  the  black-and-tan  warriors  go  forth  to  the 
fray  with  pea-shooters,  there  we  shall  build  up  our  Renais 
sance,  and  do  our  wedding-cake-walk  upon  the  beach.  We 
have  exhausted  Civilization.  Let  us  begin  again  at  the 
beginning  !  " 

They  crept  out  of  the  Mysterium  as  the  dusk  fell,  locked 
the  door  quietly,  and  stole  out  by  way  of  a  secret  door. 
There  was  a  light  burning  in  the  Treasurer's  Office,  and 
they  avoided  that  exit  elaborately. 

[254] 


BOUNDER'S   APOTHEOSIS 


After  the  excitement  of  the  day,  Guy  Bounder  had  felt 
privileged  to  go  off  on  a  prolonged  tear.  His  old  instincts 
reverted  under  the  effects  of  the  stimulation,  and  for  the 
whole  afternoon  he  forgot  that  he  had  ever  been  a  Minor 
Priest  of  the  Martian  Order  of  the  Seven  Headed  Sala 
mander.  Not  for  him,  now,  the  Martian  cocktail,  with 
its  insidious  combination  of  egg  and  cochineal ;  his  thirst 
was  only  to  be  assuaged  by  bitter  beer  and  'arf-and-'arf 's, 
and  still  more  congenial  gin.  His  progress  from  bar  to  bar 
became  unsteady  ;  had  he  practiced  ten  years  on  the  Ma 
zurka  he  could  not  have  mapped  out  his  travels  with  more 
eccentric  divagation.  He  could  well  afford  the  expense  of 
inviting  his  familiar  spirits  to  share  the  celebration,  for  that 
day  he  had  received  the  fee  for  his  offices  at  the  Temple, 
and  the  quarter  of  a  million  dollars  was  nearly  attained. 
The  tide  was  rising ;  he  saw  no  reason  why,  in  the 
course  of  a  month  at  least,  he  might  not  prepare  his 
escape. 

The  plaid  waistcoat  and  all  contained  therein  was,  at  last, 
under  the  patronage  of  a  friendly  policeman,  loaded  aboard 
a  herdic,  and  Bounder,  in  a  husky  but  cordial  voice,  directed 
it  towards  Copley  Square  and  the  quiet  refuge  of  the 
Temple.  With  his  bowler  hat  over  one  eye,  his  feet  be 
daubing  the  front  seat-cushion,  the  Grand  Treasurer  rolled 
down  Boylston  Street,  singing,  with  a  bubbling  barytone 
accented  by  many  original  semi-quavers  : 

"  Jaivn  was  a  narce  good  '^-band,  'E  never  cared  to  roam, 
'£  only  wanted  a  quiet  life  ;  '£  only  wanted  a  quid  wife  ; 
There  'e  would  sit  by  the  preside,  such  a  chilly 

Jawn  — 

Oh,  I  'ope  and  trust  there  's  a  narce  'ot  fire, 
Were  my  old  man  's  gone  !  " 


man    was 


LADT   MECHANTE 


The  Temple  of  Mars  was  at  last  reached,  and  Guy 
tumbled  out  upon  the  sidewalk.  The  driver  fished  in  the 
Treasurer's  pocket,  found  a  five-dollar  gold  piece,  bit  it, 
mounted,  and  drove  off.  Bounder  staggered  to  his  feet. 
There  was  an  express  wagon  at  the  corner,  and  a  man 
appeared  from  a  back  alley  with  a  large  sack,  which  he  de 
posited  upon  the  cart.  Guy  stared,  with  half  a  wonder  at 
the  phenomenon,  but  then,  striking  gayly  into  the  air  again, 
he  made  his  circuitous  way  to  his  private  door  and  fell  in 
slumber  upon  a  chair  in  the  office. 

The  slamming  of  a  gate  awakened  him  finally,  and  he 
rose,  drank  like  a  horse  of  the  cold  water  standing  in  the 
basin,  and  wiped  his  face  with  a  towel.  Then  he  looked 
in  the  glass.  "  Won't  do  !  Won't  do,  for  Grand  Treshrer  !  " 
he  informed  himself,  and,  to  assure  himself  of  his  dignity, 
he  stumbled  to  the  safe  to  refresh  himself  with  a  sight  of 
his  money. 

The  safe  door  stood  open.  All  the  drawers  were  pulled 
out  and  lay  bottom  up  upon  the  floor  of  the  vault.  He 
made  a  mad  dash  at  his  own  particular  compartment,  and 
found  it  as  empty  as  the  rest.  In  an  instant  he  was  sobered, 
as  sane  as  if  he  had  been  held  under  a  pump.  With  a 
raucous  guttural  howl,  an  oath  ripped  out  of  his  throat,  and 
he  sprang  up  with  the  fury  of  a  million  demons. 

The  Cockney,  reduced  to  poverty  at  this  dire  snatch, 
relapsed,  with  a  mouthful  of  horrid  oaths,  into  his  normal 
condition.  It  was  atavism.  The  varnish,  so  long  and  so 
carefully  smeared  over  his  brutality  by  the  brush  of  Lady 
Mechante,  peeled  off  at  the  shock  of  ire.  He  was  once 
more  the  professional  criminal,  the  pot-house  brawler,  the 
sneak-thief  Hooligan  of  the  Newington  Causeway.  He 
spoke  once  again  in  the  bitter  biting  tropes  of  London's 

[256] 


BOUNDER'S   APOTHEOSIS 


submerged  tenth.  He  became  a  "  Lag,"  and  he  gave  voice 
to  the  jargon  of  the  Penitentiary. 

u  Bilked  !  "  he  shrieked.  "  Bilked,  by  the  Lord  George 
Hell !  Holy  Harry  !  They  've  done  a  bust  here  to  beat 
the  bloodiest  Brum  in  the  New  Cut  !  They  ain't  enough 
splosh  left  to  pay  for  a  'arf  a  pint  pot  o'  bitter,  s'welp  me  ! 
Strike  me  pink  if  the  blitherin'  swine  ain't  gort  the  hull 
swag,  dam  their  bleedin'  fyces  for  'em  !  Narce  little  red 
lot  they  gort  too,  my  word  !  They  might  jolly  well  have 
tyken  the  bloody  syfe  and  bean  done  with  it  !  Hell's  teeth  ! 
but  they  pinched  a  good  haul,  the  rotten  beggars,  my  word 
they  know  their  way  abart,  damn  'em  !  They  've  bleedin' 
well  nipped  the  rolls  o'  thick-uns,  and  the  long  greens  and 
the  sparklers  and  every  last  tiddlin'  bally  bit  o'  loot  an'  I 
ain't  gort  a  tuppeny  left  to  bless  myself  with.  S'  help  me 
Gawd,  I  'm  back  on  me  knuckle  again  as  bad  as  Lambeth. 
Damn  their  bleedin'  eyelids,  but  it  mykes  me  sick  !  An' 
me  payin'  the  pots  for  a  lot  o'  bleedin'  bums  in  ther  kip- 
house  darn  town  like  a  bleedin'  toff  on  a  furlough  !  Holy 
Mike  !  wot  a  charnst  they  'ad,  blimy,  with  the  bloke  on 
the  cart  doggin'  'em  off  and  watchin'  for  slops  while  they 
done  the  job  with  gloves  on  !  An'  I  carn't  snap  'em  nor 
put  a  Teck  onto  'em  fer  fear  o'  bein'  nabbed  fer  a  little 
trick  o'  me  own  !  They  can  grease  off  an'  bally  well  do 
in  the  whole  swag  while  I  whistle  for  a  tuck-in  !  Strike 
me  blind  if  I  ain't  a  bleedin'  ass  an'  I  carn't  squeal!  I  gort 
to  stand  pals  with  ther  blitherin'  swine  an'  hold  me  jaw. 
Gawd,  but  I'd  like  to bloomin'  well  bryke  their  narsty  fyces  !" 

The  rest  was  too  awful. 

Then  his  eye  caught  sight  of  a  note  that  was  conspicu 
ously  pinned  to  a  jamb  of  the  door.  He  rubbed  his  watery 
eyes  and  pulled  it  off  with  a  jerk.  It  was  one  of  his 

V  [257] 


LADY   M EC H ANTE 


own  indulgences,  —  a  licence  to  steal  to  the  amount  of 
$1,000,000,  and  dated  three  months  previously.  And  so 
was  the  biter  bit.  He  did  not  need  to  inquire  of  his 
books  who  had  victimized  him.  A  great  wave  of  fury 
told  him  that  it  was  Barowich  the  Slav. 

"  I  dreamed  o'  that  'airy  w'elp,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  I  knew  he  'd  bilk  me,  after  he  gort  that  mad-on  at  the 
State  House.  Curse  his  dirty  fyce,  if  I  only  could  get  at 
him  once,  I  'd  stand  him  on  'is  ugly  'ed  an'  show  him  'ow  ! 
I  expect  the  swine  calls  this  'ere  thing  a  joke  on  me. 
Gawd,  I  '11  land  'im  in  the  Pen.  for  this,  blimy  if  I  don't. 
I  '11  jolly  well  set  the  bleedin'  house  afire  an'  have  'im 
snapped  for  arson,  swelp  me  if  I  don't !  I  '11  pull  the 
bloomin'  plyce  down  an'  swear  to  his  doin'  it,  curse  'im  !  " 

With  this  desperate  resolve,  Bounder  arose,  and,  de 
scending  to  the  cellar,  filled  a  large  watering-pot  with 
kerosene  oil.  With  this  he  proceeded  up  and  down  the 
main  aisles  of  the  Temple,  sprinkling  the  carpet  generously 
with  the  fluid  in  every  direction  from  the  central  altar.  It 
was  hard  work,  and  his  repeated  trips  to  the  lower  regions 
inspired  him  with  a  gorgeous  thirst.  He  had  in  his  office 
the  wherewithal  to  alleviate  such  an  emergency,  and  he 
partook  freely  of  a  demijohn  after  each  trip.  His  previous 
excitement,  lulled  by  the  shock  of  the  burglary,  arose  fiercely 
again  under  the  encouragement,  and  Bounder's  present  con 
dition  was  now,  as  compared  with  his  former  lapse  of 
sobriety,  as  Hell  to  rose-water.  It  came  then  to  his  reeling 
mind  that  an  appropriate  costume  for  the  deed  would  be 
the  robes  and  abacot  of  a  Minor  Priest.  The  picture  he 
drew  of  himself  in  this  garb,  signaling  the  Fire  Brigade 
from  an  upper  window,  and  subsequently  accusing  Baro 
wich  of  the  crime  at  the  Police  Headquarters,  appealed 

[258] 


BOUNDER'S   APOTHEOSIS 


to  his  exotic  fancy  as  dramatic  and  sensational.  With 
what  wit  he  had  left,  therefore,  he  fastened  on  the  red 
robe,  and  balanced  the  copper  crown  with  its  seven-headed 
salamander  unsteadily  upon  his  pate. 

In  Bounder's  brain  a  billion  devils  now  raged.  For  a 
while  he  fought  them  single-handed,  and  with  mighty  re 
solve.  But  the  combination  of  liquors  was  too  fierce  for 
even  the  well-seasoned  body  of  the  Cockney.  He  reeled 
up  the  aisle  and,  with  a  gesture  worthy  of  a  larger  audience, 
swept  the  fire  from  the  altar  to  the  floor.  The  flames  sped 
north,  south,  east,  and  west  like  the  blazing  rays  of  a 
star.  With  a  shriek  of  frenzy  the  Minor  Priest  ran  from 
bench  to  bench  in  the  direction  of  the  door  to  the  upper 
stairway.  The  feat  could  hardly  have  been  achieved  by  a 
man  in  his  sober  senses,  but  Bounder  was  above  all  ordi 
nary  laws  of  equilibrium.  He  fumbled  his  way  up  the 
stairway,  and,  half-way  up  to  the  Mysterium,  came  upon  a 
door.  This  led  to  a  balcony  some  fifty  feet  from  the 
ground,  encircling  the  cone  at  the  carved  torus. 

Midnight  had  but  just  been  greeted  by  a  cannonade  of 
crackers  and  bombs,  and  the  Fourth  of  July  was  beginning 
with  fury.  To  Bounder's  mind,  unaware  of  the  public 
celebration  of  Independence  Day,  these  fireworks  seemed 
but  a  part  of  his  own  magnificent  plan,  and  he  congratu 
lated  himself  upon  his  success.  Rockets  and  Roman  can 
dles  ascended  from  all  parts  of  the  city,  and  the  Minor 
Priest  hailed  them  with  lusty  cheers. 

His  exuberance  at  last  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
few  pedestrians  afloat  at  that  hour,  and  soon  a  little  flock 
of  spectators  gathered  in  the  square  watching  the  inebriated 
enthusiast  who  had  found  it  desirable  to  herald  the  Fourth 
in  such  splendor.  Stranger  things  than  that  had  been  wit- 

[259] 


LADT  MECHANTE 


nessed  at  the  Temple  of  Mars,  and  there  was  no  suspicion 
that  the  exhibition  was  not  held  by  authority.  It  was  not 
long,  however,  before  the  Treasurer's  consummate  work  in 
the  hall  below  made  itself  evident.  The  lower  windows 
were  gradually  lighted  with  a  dull  glow,  which  turned  rapidly 
to  a  more  brilliant  red.  Smoke  curled  from  many  orifices. 
The  Temple  was  indubitably  afire. 

A  policeman  hurriedly  rang  an  alarm,  and  all  interest 
centered  upon  the  figure  upon  the  balcony.  Bounder,  not 
a  little  touched  by  the  consideration  he  received,  ran  round 
the  circle  and  stopped  above  the  great  door  to  address  the 
congregation.  The  speech,  had  it  been  intelligible,  would 
have  proved  infinitely  diverting,  but  Bounder's  tongue  had 
now  swollen  beyond  the  possibilities  of  articulation. 

With  a  clang  and  a  roar  three  fire-engines  swung  into 
Copley  Square,  anchored,  and  affixed  their  great  tubes  to 
three  several  hydrants.  The  police  roped  off  the  enclosure 
to  hold  back  the  ever-increasing  multitude,  and  a  ladder- 
wagon,  loaded  with  its  long,  swaying  paraphernalia,  gal 
loped  to  the  scene.  Bounder's  position  had  now  become 
critical.  With  yells  the  crowd,  seething  below,  sought  to 
warn  him  of  his  danger,  but  it  was  not  till  he  looked  be 
hind  him  that  he  realized  that  the  spectacle  had  a  nearer 
interest  for  him.  Flames,  sparks,  and  cinders  were  now 
darting  in  every  direction  about  him,  and  his  perch  was 
hardly  tenable.  A  wave  of  heat  smothered  him,  but  he 
stood  in  all  the  ridiculous  pomp  of  his  Martian  character. 

Fiercer  grew  the  fire,  and  now  Guy  Bounder  danced 
upon  the  heated  iron  balcony  like  a  Hamburg  goose  upon 
a  hot  shovel.  He  climbed  over  the  rail  and  held  himself  off 
the  fury  of  the  conflagration,  howling  obscene  appeals  and 
imprecations  to  the  firemen  below.  It  seemed  impossible 

[260] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


for  him  to  exist  there  a  minute  longer,  and  as  yet  the  lad 
ders  were  not  ready.  Almost  naked,  clinging  like  a  fly  to 
the  wall,  his  round  head  dripping  with  sweat,  he  was  all 
but  singed  alive  when  the  Chief  ordered  the  hose  turned 
upon  him.  Then  began  a  drenching  that  brought  him  rea 
son,  deep  dyed  with  horror.  He  shrunk  alike  from  the 
flames  and  from  the  stream  of  water,  but  the  fireman  mer 
cilessly  held  the  nozzle  of  his  hose  in  the  direction  of  the 
now  half-boiled  wretch. 

At  last  a  ladder  was  raised  and  a  fireman  ran  up  to  the 
rescue.  Down  they  came,  he  and  what  was  left  of  Bounder. 
A  place  was  made  for  him,  and  the  crowd  closed  in  about 
him.  Shivering,  soggy,  nude,  Guy  Bounder,  Minor  Priest 
of  the  Order  of  the  Seven  Headed  Salamander,  Grand 
Treasurer  of  the  Temple  and  Cult  of  Mars,  the  last  sur 
vivor  of  the  Transplanetary  Movement,  lay  in  a  tinted 
puddle  of  slush,  a  thing  unspeakable. 

A  patrol  wagon  hurried  up,  the  crowd  parted,  and  the 
incendiary  was  loaded  in.  Then,  held  by  four  giggling 
policemen,  he  was  galloped  towards  the  police  station.  It 
was  finished. 

A  week  after,  Mortimer  Stencill,  having  finished  his  turn 
at  Keith's,  joined  his  wife,  who  was  waiting  for  him  in  the 
foyer,  and  the  two  proceeded  leisurely  up  the  Tremont  Street 
Mall.  The  day  was  warm,  but  the  air  was  sweet.  Boston 
is  very  good  to  those  of  her  residents  who  honor  her  with 
their  presence  in  the  summer.  The  two  were  as  happy  as 
children.  Theirs  was  a  perpetual  honeymoon. 

At  an  exit  of  the  Subway  on  the  Common  they  came 
suddenly  upon  two  ladies  toiling  up  the  subterraneous  marble 
steps.  One  wore  the  unmistakable  garment  of  authority. 

[262] 


BOUNDER'S  APOTHEOSIS 


The  other  was  enveloped,  as  ever,  in  black  silk,  shiny  and 
hard,  over  her  thorax.  It  might  have  been  suspected  by 
their  attitude  that  these  companions  would  have  preferred 
to  pass  unnoticed,  but  the  collision  was  unavoidable. 

"  How  de  do  !  "  chirped  Mrs.  Stencill,  with  the  greatest 
amiability  in  the  world,  and  she  shook  hands  effusively. 

"  How  de  do  !  "  said  Mortimer,  and  the  two  ladies  mur 
mured  the  same  appropriate  greeting. 

Mr.  Stencill  eyed  them,  with  mild  amusement  at  their 
embarrassment,  but  Roberta  forced  home  her  barb. 

"And  how  is  the  Cult  of  Mars  now,  Mrs.  Burlap?  I 
hear  little  of  it  nowadays.  Are  you  become  High  Priestess  ? 
Or  perhaps  it  is  Mrs.  Essery  !  " 

"  Oh  no  !  "  Mrs.  Braxton-Burlap  said,  in  visible  confu 
sion.  "I'm  really  afraid  that  movement  is  quite  at  an  end. 
We  were  hardly  ready  for  it  even  in  Boston,  you  know  ! 
Sometime,  perhaps,  when  we  are  developed  further,  we  may- 
take  up  the  work  again.  But  I  have  just  been  to  hear  a 
lecture  upon  the  Use  of  the  Toes.  Do  you  know,  our  evo 
lution  has  so  neglected  those  members  that  they  are  now 
lapsed  into  mere  extremities.  They  have  great  possibilities, 
however,  I  assure  you,  and  it  seems  quite  possible  to  edu 
cate  their  function  so  as  to  make  them  valuable  aids  in 
manipulation.  Perhaps  I  should  say  pedipulation.  It  is 
really  most  extraordinary,  and  Mrs.  Essery  and  I  are  think 
ing  of  starting  classes  in  toe-culture  this  fall.  Really, 
you  know,  it 's  wonderful !  But  there 's  our  car  now  !  We 
really  must  be  off.  Do  come  and  see  us  sometime,  Mrs. 
Stencill.  Good  bye  !  Good  bye,  Mr.  Stencill,  how  well 
you  're  looking  !  Good  bye,  then/' 

And  Mrs.  Essery  echoed,  "  Good  bye  !  " 

[263] 


Jf0ttr 


THE    CAVE    MAN 


/  have  a  new  soul  in  mey  made  of  a  north-wind. 

(The  Woman's  Prize.) 


r 


Cfmpter 

THE    FAIRY    OF    THE    FLATIRON 

How  now,  lime-twig,  bast  thou  touched  ? 

(Bartholomew  Fair.) 

>T  is  the  French  who  have,  to  perfection, 
the  art  of  making  whatever  is  naughty 
nice,  and  what  is  nice  naughty.  Where 
fore  let  us  not  call  the  lady's  beauty  dev 
ilish,  but  nominate  its  fascinating  quality 
that  of  diablerie.  Beaute  de  diable  she  had 
as  well  —  though  that  is  quite  another  thing  —  for  she  was 
but  twenty-five.  She  had,  in  short,  that  sort  of  beauty 
which  is  called  "troublesome,"  and  few  men  will  need 
further  commentary  upon  her  looks. 

By  what  was  written  in  the  delicious  curve  of  her  lips, 
in  the  evanescent,  shadowy,  waxing-waning  dimple  in  her 
cheek,  in  the  very  crinkles  of  her  eyelids,  women  might 
have  said  that  she  was  probably  more  fond  of  men  than  of 
women.  They  might  have  said  with  perhaps  more  truth 
that  women  were  less  fond  of  her  than  were  men.  But 
whether  one  be  the  cause  or  the  effect  of  the  other,  who 
can  say  ?  Ask  Demiourgos,  maker  of  men. 

Women,  also,  might  say  that  she  had  no  soul.  A  man's 
answer  would  come  as  plainly;  she  did  not  need  one. 
She  did  very  well  without,  thank  you  ;  for  there  she  was, 
most  intensely  and  distractingly  her  own  whimsical  self, 


LADT   MECHANTE 


gifted  with  an  original  and  provocative  originality.  She  had 
more  cinnamon  and  clove  than  sugar  in  her  nature,  though 
she  was  sweet  enough  too.  But  her  charm  was  unanalyz- 
able.  Let  us  finish  an  impossible  description,  and  call  her 
urare." 

Rare  she  was,  and  fair  she  was,  and  she  was  twenty-five, 
this  precious,  ruddy-haired  bonnibel  who,  in  the  seven 
teenth  story  of  the  Flatiron  Building,  gazed  jauntily  from 
the  window  down  upon  the  traffic  of  New  York.  Gazed, 
and  wondered  ;  wondered,  and  let  loose  an  exquisite  smile, 
more  dangerous  than  dynamite,  more  searching  than  radium, 
more  swift  and  potent  than  electricity.  One  seeing  her 
might  have  said  of  her,  as  the  old  slab  in  the  Plymouth 
graveyard  says  of  Fanney  Crombie  at  the  age  of  eight : 

"  As  young  as  beautiful  !   as  soft  as  young  ! 
As  gay  as  soft  !   as  innocent  as  gay  !  " 

and  would  have  missed  her  description  by  but  one  adjective. 
She  was  not,  perhaps,  so  innocent  as  she  looked,  though  her 
peccadillos  were  venial. 

The  room,  in  the  acute  angle  of  the  building,  was  trian 
gular,  and  the  window  in  its  point  looked  up  both  Broadway 
and  Fifth  Avenue.  It  commanded  Madison  Square  with 
its  greenery  as  well.  It  gave  upon  the  heart  of  the  metrop 
olis,  at  the  lower  end  of  the  Great  White  Way.  The 
apartment,  intended  for  some  sober,  unimaginative  insurance 
office,  contained  an  exotic  collection  of  furnishings.  It 
was,  in  point  of  fact,  a  lady's  drawing-room,  conceived  in 
European  style,  a  finished  perfect  whole  in  schema  and 
detail.  Yet  it  was  as  original  as  the  taste  of  so  rare  a  lady 
should  be,  and  showed  the  same  personality,  the  same  spicy 

[268] 


THE   FAIRY   OF   THE   FLAT  IRON 


taste.  Commodious,  comfortable  even  to  restfulness,  it 
dared  risk  high  lights,  admirably  disposed,  and  showed  a 
virile  note  of  composition,  a  tendency  that  ran  rather  to 
contrasts  than  to  harmonies,  showing  the  mark  of  her 
mind  throughout,  and  fitting  her  as  a  frame  its  portrait. 
No  man  would  have  feared  to  trust  her  chairs;  no  woman 
could  criticize  her  hangings,  but  neither  would  have  noticed 
aught  else  when  their  hostess  was  in  evidence.  No  need, 
then,  to  catalogue  the  room's  items,  except,  perhaps,  to 
remark  a  portrait  of  the  lady  herself  by  Boldini,  which  set 
the  appropriate  keynote  of  the  whole.  In  that  present 
ment  she  sat  upon  a  golden  chair,  a  little  more  feline,  a 
little  more  fluently  composed,  a  little  more  pointed  as  to 
mouth  and  eyes,  a  little  more  eighteenth  century,  than  was 
due  her  charm,  but  the  lady  herself  indubitably,  apparently 
about  to  smile  and  toss  a  jest  across  the  Bokhara  rug. 
During  her  rare  moments  of  sober  introspection  it  even 
rivaled  her  in  liveliness  and  persuasive  force;  but  when  the 
real  smile  came,  the  picture  receded  into  its  frame,  sighed, 
and  fell  asleep. 

And,  to  finish,  there  was  no  silver  in  the  place,  no  whitish 
sheen  such  as  ladies  commonly  affect ;  what  was  not  gold 
was  copper,  burnished  to  a  glowing  red. 

But  she  has  rested  there  at  the  window,  ambient-eyed,  too 
long.  Let's  move  her,  like  a  puppet,  and  permit  New 
York  to  thrill  at  the  touch  of  her  pink  finger. 

Did  your  pulse  quicken  that  day,  as  you  passed  the 
windy  angle  of  the  great  building?  Did  no  titillation  X-ray 
you  as  you  maneuvered  along  the  blown  thoroughfare  of 
Twenty-third  Street  ?  Perhaps  not,  for  you  were  not  her 
mark.  Yet  that  smile  of  hers  found  its  bullseye,  though 

[269] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


she  shot   with  one  eye  shut.      Destiny   aimed  her  arrow; 
this  lovely  lady  did  but  pull  the  cord. 

That  ingenious  smile  had  been  fathered  by  a  deft  resolve, 
and  mothered  by  the  lady's  love  of  mystery.  Her  mind 
made  up,  she  returned  to  her  escritoire  and  drew  from  a 
pigeonhole  a  yellow  hundred-dollar  bill.  This,  with  a 
quick  motion  of  her  gracile  ringers,  she  tore  in  halves.  One 
went  back  to  the  pigeonhole,  the  other  into  a  square  enve 
lope.  Next,  she  sat  down  to  write.  There  was  some 
small  nibbling  of  her  gold  penholder,  some  scowling  of  her 
arched  brows,  before  ink  touched  paper;  but,  a  few  sec 
onds  after,  there  appeared,  in  a  bold  feminine  hand  and 
with  but  a  single  flourish  at  the  end,  the  following  wet 
words  : 

"If  the  finder  of  this  is  a  woman,  give  it  to  the  nearest  man. 
If  a  man,  call  at  Room  No.  1798,  Flatiron  Building,  as  soon  as 
.possible  for  the  other  half  of  the  enclosed  bill." 

This  note  she  tucked  into  the  envelope  and  sealed  the 
flap.  Lastly,  she  walked  gayly  to  the  window,  looked  out 
for  a  moment,  and  then  flung  her  missive  forth  upon  the 
breeze. 

The  wind,  parted  by  the  wedge-shaped  bulk  of  the  Flat- 
iron  Building,  plays  many  capers  in  the  vicinity.  With 
wanton  wiles  it  mischiefs  with  the  skirts  of  pedestrians,  it 
snatches  hats  from  heads  and  sends  them  aeroplaning  aloft, 
it  scurries  in  eddies  and  whirlpools,  it  describes  helter-skelter 
routes  in  curves  and  dizzying  zigzags.  The  most  sedate 
blast,  in  its  progress  across  the  island,  here  plays  truant  for 
a  half-hour  to  torture  and  baffle  passers-by.  The  air  was 

[270] 


THE   FAIRT   OF   THE   FLAT  IRON 


an  arrant  madcap  that  day  ;  it  blew  in  six  directions  at  once, 
like  an  intoxicated  tornado.  My  lady's  square  envelope 
went  up  and  north,  then  downward  toward  the  east,  then 
slanted,  skimming  one  way  and  another,  suddenly  dropping, 
suddenly  rising,  ofF  on  a  tangent,  round  in  a  curve,  sweep 
ing  to  right  and  sloping  to  left,  now  fast,  now  slow.  It 
rose  at  one  time  far  above  the  roof  of  the  building  and 
hurried  towards  Madison  Square  tower;  in  another  minute 
it  had  sailed  downward  almost  to  the  sidewalk ;  then  it 
went  up  and  up  again  almost  perpendicularly  to  change  its 
mind  before  it  sought  an  entrance  to  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel 
and  drive  post-haste  over  Madison  Square. 

And  as  it  dipped  and  tilted,  the  sunlight  caught  it,  or  the 
shadow  obscured  its  form.  For  minutes  it  was  invisible, 
only  to  appear  higher  and  beyond,  or  nearer  and  below,  in 
a  flash  like  a  heliograph.  Then  it  drew  a  bright  arc  across 
the  facade  of  a  Broadway  store  and  was  lost  again.  It 
fluttered  into  sight  like  a  butterfly  and  disappeared.  The 
last  sitrht  of  it  showed  a  twinkling  dot  of  white  over  the 
shadowy  green  of  the  Square.  Its  light  went  out  and  it 
was  gone. 

The  lady  sighed  and  closed  the  window.  Her  bolt  was 
sent. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  turned  to  the  telephone. 
An  order  for  a  manicure  was  despatched,  with  specifications 
that  she  should  be  a  blonde  —  not  red.  Another  message 
called  a  masseuse  —  here  she  required  a  brunette.  These 
errands  accomplished,  the  lady  threw  herself  upon  a  couch, 
took  up  a  magazine,  fluttered  its  pages  for  a  while  and 
finally  composed  herself  to  wait  for  her  attendance,  plunged 
in  a  day  dream. 


LADT   MECHANTE 


Haulick  Smagg,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground,  his  coal 
shovel  over  his  shoulder,  heaved  his  six  feet  of  bulk  stolidly 
across  Madison  Square,  walking  as  heavily  as  a  dray  horse. 
From  his  bony  ovoid  head  his  eyeballs  looked  out  through 
a  grime  of  coal  dust,  and  beneath  them  a  row  of  white  teeth 
cut  a  horizontal  line  across  his  visage.  The  rest  of  his 
face  was  lost  in  the  melange  of  dirt,  hair,  and  matted  whis 
kers,  all  save  two  great  ears,  one  on  each  side  of  his  skull, 
poised  wing-like,  as  if  for  flight.  His  carnivorous  jaw 
worked  ponderously  upon  a  cud  of  tobacco;  his  left  arm 
swung  back  and  forth  like  a  piece  of  crude  machinery. 
His  dress  was  nondescript,  blackened  to  a  homogeneous 
filthiness  by  the  pasty  soot.  There  was  little  charm  about 
Haulick  Smagg,  small  subtlety,  and  less  poetry.  He  was  a 
walking  clod,  a  human  animal,  a  Thing. 

He  had  been  discharged  from  the  coal  yard  that  noon,  and 
no  vernal  joyance  filled  his  heart.  As  he  crossed  the 
Square,  his  thoughts,  if  he  thought  at  all,  were  fixed  on 
dinner.  The  spasmodic  rise  and  fall  of  the  fountain  in; 
the  pool  sent  him  no  message  of  hope  or  beauty  ;  the  leafage,, 
so  tenderly  green  about  him,  conjured  no  aesthetic  thrill.. 
Dinner  obsessed  him.  He  still  had  twenty-two  cents  left 
wherewith  to  eat  and  drink,  and  sulkily  he  planned  his 
meal.  The  necessity,  at  this  crisis,  of  getting  drunk 
worried  him,  and  he  planned  his  campaign.  To  get  dinner 
and  get  drunk  on  twenty-two  cents  was  the  greatest  problem, 
so  far,  he  had  ever  had  to  solve. 

Haulick  Smagg  —  but  why  Haulick?     Ah!     His  mother 
had   been    a   gipsy ;    she   gave   him    a   strain   of  something  <; 
Oriental    that    wandered    errant    through    his   thick    blood., 
Kidnapped  on   Hampstead  Heath  by  a  pious,  erratic  NoriM  ' 
conformist  parson  who  had  hoped  to  rescue  a  soul   from  . 

1*7*] 


THE   FAIRY    OF   THE    FLAT  I  RON 


vagrancy  and  perdition,  the  Romany  waif  had  grown  up  in 
the  scullery  of  the  parson's  home  at  Dorking.  Her  hered 
ity,  however,  had  proved  stronger  than  environment. 
The  call  of  the  wind  stirred  her  and  she  was  off  a-roving 
at  fifteen.  Her  voyage,  brief  but  lively,  ended  when  she 
met  Bill  Smagg,  and  she  came  safely  into  the  port  of  wife- 
hood.  With  that  she  espoused  respectability,  her  only  in 
fidelities  being  occasional  dreams  of  romance  consequent 
upon  her  habitual  fondness  for  eel  pie.  It  was  in  one  of 
these  pleasant  visions  that  the  name  was  revealed  unto  her. 
It  was  a  dream  of  a  gorgeous  Italian  with  a  green  shirt  and 
yellow,  floating  scarf,  who  swore  heroically  upon  a  Thames 
river  barge.  As  he  stood  upon  the  stern  of  his  craft,  the 
name  "Samuel  J.  Haulick  "  showed  plainly  beneath  him. 
The  dream,  recounted  to  Mr.  Smagg  so  soon  after  his 
ninth  son  was  bom,  seemed  portentous  to  both  the  parents. 
The  neighbors  thought  so,  too,  and  the  greengrocer,  as  well 
as  the  keeper  of  the  eel-pie  house  round  the  corner.  The 
result  was  that  the  infant  was  named  Haulick  Smagg  and 
thrived  notwithstanding. 

At  the  age  of  five,  however,  Haulick  Smagg  had  suc 
ceeded  in  running  away  from  home,  made  his  way  to 
Southampton,  and,  after  a  few  years  of  vicissitude,  stowed 
himself  away  upon  the  bark  Scarlatina  and  was  carried  to 
New  York.  From  this  port  he  had  never  departed.  For 
got  was  his  gipsy  mother,  forgot  his  father,  forgot  the  eel- 
pie  house,  and  forgot  his  native  idiom  and  dialect.  Haulick 
was,  for  all  he  knew,  an  American  ;  he  knew,  at  least,  that 
he  was  a  coal-heaver  who  had  lost  his  job  and  was  now 
treading  an  unaccustomed  part  of  the  city. 

(At  last  we  have  caught  up  with  him.  He  has  passed 
the  nursemaids  now,  passed  the  policeman  watching  the 


18 


273 


LADT   MECHANTE 


nursemaids,  passed  the  sleeping  men  with  newspapers, 
passed  the  khaki-clad  recruiting  sergeant.) 

Why  he  crossed  the  Square  he  did  not  know.  But 
Destiny  drew  him.  Destiny  and  dinner. 

Of  a  sudden  something  drew  his  eyes  from  the  flagged 
walk  and  raised  them  to  a  figure  ahead.  To  him  it  was 
but  a  lady  —  a  creature  out  of  his  world,  out  of  his  ken,  an 
object  as  foreign  as  the  angels,  as  inaccessible  as  cham 
pagne,  as  mysterious  as  money.  What  ladies  were  made 
of  he  neither  knew  nor  desired  to  know ;  what  they  did  he 
had  never  even  wondered.  He  accepted  them  as  parts  of 
the  city's  fauna,  a  little  less  strange  than  pigeons,  a  little 
more  difficult  than  dogs  —  bright-clad  animals  which,  though 
seemingly  harmless,  he  distrusted  and  avoided.  That  they 
were  human,  that  they  had  anything  physically  or  mentally 
in  common  with  such  women  as  he  had  known,  had  never 
entered  his  head. 

With  a  thrill  of  annoyance,  the  fact  broke  through  his 
torpor  that  this  one,  holding  something  white  in  her  hand, 
smiling  magically,  was  definitely,  positively  approaching 
him  ;  she  was  intending  to  speak.  To  speak  to  him.  The 
idea  was  madness  ;  but  he  had  scant  time  for  wonder. 

She  was  jauntily  clad  in  the  extreme  of  the  jaunty 
fashion  of  that  day,  complete  from  hat  to  heels,  as  smart 
as  he  was  squalid,  as  graceful  as  he  was  glum.  Slim  as  a 
snake  was  Dolly  Van  Dream  that  April  day,  in  a  blue 
tailor-made  suit  that  made  every  female  passer-by  suspect 
her  figure.  Her  hat  was  black,  her  gloves  milk-white, 
her  shoes  twinkled  like  mirrors  on  her  high-arched  little 
feet.  The  modiste  who  had  turned  her  out,  fresh  and 
sharp  from  the  stylish  mold  of  the  hour,  may  have 
turned  out  many  like  her,  but  none  so  spick,  none  so 

[274] 


THE    FAIRY   OF   THE   FLAT  IRON 


clean,  none  so  silkily  smooth  and  cleverly  right  and  trig 
and  taut  and  gladsome. 

She  stopped  in   front  of  him  —  actually  stopped,  did  she 

and  held  a  white  envelope  out  to  him.      He  had  never 

been  so  near  to  a  lady's  clean-cut  head,  white  skin,  and 
animated  eyes.  He  gripped  his  shovel  and  stared  wildly, 
his  mouth  ajar. 

"  Here,"  she  said,  and  to  Haulick  Smagg  her  voice  was 
cadcnced  as  if  it  came  from  miles  away —  from  the  moon 
or  Sirius.  "  Here,  my  good  man,  take  this.  It  may  be 
worth  your  while." 

He  was  now  stricken,  and  stood  an  insensate  statue  of 
surprise. 

"  Let  me  explain  it  for  you,"  she  went  on,  and,  drawing 
a  sheet  of  paper  from  the  envelope,  she  pointed  to  some 
writing.  "  It  says  here  that  if  you  take  this  to  Room  1798 
in  the  Flatiron  Building  "  -  she  waved  airily  to  the  colossal 

wec[ge "you  will  get  a  hundred  dollars.      See,  here  is  one 

half  of  a  hundred-dollar  bill."  Her  slim  ringers  plucked 
the  torn  yellow  bill  from  its  nest.  "  Would  you  like  to 
try  it  ?  " 

He  had  never  seen  a  hundred-dollar  bill  before;  no, 
never  a  fifty.  To  him  money  was  green  and  dirty  and 
wrinkled  always,  and  always  stained  and  torn.  But  her 
worcls — though  with  her  accent  they  came  as  foreign  as 
French  —  aroused  an  instinct,  and  he  put  forth  his  hand.  If 
this  thing  were  indeed  money,  he  should  lose  no  time.  He 
grabbed  it  from  her  with  a  crafty  plunge,  and  crumpled  it 
in  his  fingers.  But  speech  came  not  unto  him. 

"You  see,  it  says  that  a  woman  mayn't  get  it,"  Miss 
Van  Dream  went  sweetly  on,  "and  I  was  requested  to  give 
it  to  the  nearest  man.  It  sounds  interesting,  and  I  'm  sorry 

[275  ] 


LADT  MECHANTE 


I'm  not  eligible.  So  you're  to  take  this  to  the  room  and 
you  '11  be  given  the  other  half.  A  hundred  dollars.  Will 
you  do  it  ?  "  She  looked  at  him  with  well-bred  curiosity. 
Social  emergencies  had  schooled  her  and  she  dared  to  smile. 

Slowly  he  released  his  ringers  and  gazed  at  the  crumpled 
half-bill  as  if  it  had  been  an  imprisoned  bird  and  might 
escape.  He  put  it  to  his  nose  and  smelled  it.  Yes,  it 
smacked  of  money.  Then  the  dream  was  true  !  Then  he 
opened  his  lips.  Perhaps  a  drop  of  gipsy  blood  grew  potent 
in  him ;  perhaps  there  is  a  very  spirit  in  lucre  that  in 
spires  and  exalts,  a  power  that  informs  ignorance  and 
quickens  apathy. 

"  Thanks  !  "  His  voice  came  raucous,  but  it  came. 
"  I  '11  do  ut !  "  It  was  his  first  moral  victory.  The  spark 
had  lighted  up  his  soul.  He  had  spoken  to  a  lady. 
But,  with  a  sudden  reflex,  his  fingers  tightened  upon  the 
treasure. 

Then,  "  Gimme  the  paper  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

He  grabbed  that,  too,  and  read  it  painfully,  the  stumpy 
end  of  his  black  forefinger  traveling  slowly  along  the  lines. 
Miss  Van  Dream  gazed  at  him  amused.  A  few  passers- 
by  stopped  and  stared.  Her  proud  gaze  swept  them  on 
like  a  chill  breeze.  As  they  stood  there,  a  policeman 
caught  sight  of  this  Beauty  and  the  Beast  and  started 
saunteringly  their  way.  The  movement  aroused  her  to 
action. 

"  Listen,  my  good  man,"  she  said.  u  Now  that  I  've  done 
something  for  you,  I  'm  going  to  ask  you  to  do  something 
for  me.  After  you  've  got  the  hundred  dollars  up  there, 
will  you  come  and  tell  me  all  about  it?" 

«  Huh  ?  " 

She  repeated  the  question. 


THE   FAIRT   OF   THE   FLAT  I  RON 


"  Oh,  sure  !  "  he  grinned.  The  leaven  of  wealth  was 
working  in  his  brain. 

"  But  perhaps  it  will  take  some  time,"  she  added.  ct  I 
think  I  'd  better  make  an  appointment  with  you  for  to 
morrow.  I  '11  tell  you  !  Come  up  to  my  studio  at  any 
time  tomorrow  and  tell  me  all  about  it,  and  I  '11  give  you 
another  hundred  dollars  !  " 

This  was  too  much.  One  glass  of  wine  will  exhilarate  ; 
the  second  may  stupefy.  So  with  money.  One  hundred 
had  awakened  Haulick  Smagg's  dormant  manhood.  Two 
hundred  was  not  so  easily  digested.  He  sank  back  into 
dumbness,  and  could  only  wag  his  head. 

It  was  enough  for  Dolly,  however,  and  she  opened  a  red 
leather  bag  and  drew  out  a  card.  Upon  it  was  her  name, 
with  the  address,  "  404  Highbrow  Hall."  He  groped  for 
it,  as  through  the  dark. 

u  A  hundred  dollars  !  "  she  said  cheerily,  nodding  at 
him,  and  was  off  before  the  policeman  could  take  her 
measure. 

There  was  no  need  for  repetition  to  stun  Haulick 
Smagg  ;  he  was  already  almost  unconscious  in  contempla 
tion  of  his  fortune.  Two  hundred  dollars  !  To  him  it 
spelled  millions  —  drunks  perpetual,  an  alcoholic  epic.  He 
dropped  onto  a  bench  to  set  his  dull  wits  to  an  unaccus 
tomed  labor.  His  gipsy  blood,  adjuvant,  came  to  the  rescue 
again,  and,  pushing  at  his  mind,  set  it  at  last  in  motion. 
With  increasing  momentum  mere  thoughts  grew  to  ideas  and 
ideas  to  projects.  He  turned  to  his  neighbor,  an  old  lady 
with  a  dewlap  and  an  ash-barrel  bonnet,  and  grinned  at 
her.  She  hiccoughed  and  looked  at  him  with  bleared  eyes. 
His  soul  stirred  in  him.  He  opened  his  eyes  and  saw  that 
the  sky  was  blue  ;  he  saw  the  grass,  the  trees,  the  fountain  ; 


LADT   MECHANTE 


he  perceived  that  it  was  spring.  Slowly,  deliberately,  but 
with  massive  power,  he  clenched  his  fist,  tightened  his 
biceps,  and  bent  his  arm  to  prove  his  strength.  Two 
hundred  potential  dollars  coursed  through  his  veins  and  he 
became  a  giant.  Then  he  rose,  swearing  a  new  oath,  and 
stepped  off  towards  the  Flatiron  Building,  giving  the  police 
man  a  glowering  look  as  he  passed  scornfully  by. 

He  shouldered  his  way  magnificently  down  the  corridor, 
his  shovel  still  in  his  clutch,  and  tried  to  press  into  the 
elevator  cage.  A  uniformed  starter  barred  the  way.  The 
elevator  boy  grinned  and  snapped  the  door  shut,  shot  up 
the  shaft.  Sheepishly  shrinking  back  into  his  old  humil 
ity,  Haulick  Smagg  started  to  walk  upstairs,  since  he  was 
not  good  enough  to  be  carried.  His  mind  worked,  but  it 
was  not  till  he  had  climbed  nine  stories  that  he  had  solved 
his  new  problem.  Then,  cursing  himself  volubly,  he 
descended  nine  flights,  took  the  starter  by  the  shoulder  and 
flung  him  the  full  length  of  the  hallway,  broke  past  the 
elevator  boy  and  kicked  him  after  the  starter,  then  slammed 
the  door  shut  and  pulled  the  rope.  The  car  shot  upward. 
There  was  nothing  sheepish  about  Smagg's  grin  now  ;  it 
was  victorious,  arrogant,  outright. 

Before  he  knew  it  the  car  stopped  with  a  crash ; 
stopped  automatically,  but  with  violence.  He  wrenched 
the  door  open  and  emerged  with  his  shovel  and  looked 
about  him.  By  sheer  good  luck  it  was  the  seventeenth 
floor.  He  consulted  his  letter  and  began  to  explore  the 
hallway,  gazing  at  the  numbers  on  the  ground  glass  doors. 

Here  it  was,  at  last,  1798;  and  he  stopped  to  wonder 
how  he  would  get  in.  There  was  an  electric  button  by  the 
side  of  the  door  jamb,  but  it  was  too  little  for  him  to 
notice.  He  wanted  a  handle  to  pull  or  a  stout  oaken 


THE   FAIRY   OF   THE   FL  ATI  RON 


panel  to  bang.  The  glass  gave  him  no  chance,  unless  he 
boldly  pushed  his  fist  through  it.  He  would  have  done 
that  in  another  minute,  probably,  had  not  the  door  suddenly 
opened  of  itself. 

Two  women  appeared  in  the  opening,  one  blonde,  one 
brunette.  At  sight  of  him  they  ran  shrieking  inside.  One 
tried  to  close  the  door,  but  Haulick  Smagg's  immense  hoof 
was  over  the  threshold  and  prevented.  They  retreated 
down  the  inner  hall.  The  coal-heaver  ploughed  his  way 
after  them.  He  lost  them  as  they  ran  round  a  corner  and 
disappeared  into  a  little  room,  but  he  kept  on  toward  a 
door  at  the  end  of  the  passage.  There  was  no  glass  in  the 
panel  of  this,  and  he  pounded  lustily  with  his  shovel.  In 
six  seconds  it  was  opened  and  flung  wide. 


I '79} 


Chapter  Ctoo 

SMAGG'S   FLORESCENCE 

/  am  your  creature. 

And  any  shape  that  tbou  would^st  have  me  wear 
I  gladly  will  put  on. 

(The  Duke  of  Milan.) 

lOR  a  second  time  Haulick  Smagg  was  con 
fronted  by  a  lady,  but  she  was  no  twin  to 
Dolly  Van  Dream.  Even  Haulick  Smagg 
apprehended  a  difference.  This  one  was 
to  the  other  what  Christmas  was  to  Election 
Day,  what  a  cigarette  was  to  a  cigar,  what 
dull  red  is  to  pale  blue  —  no  such  denizen  of  the  world  as 
had  walked  ofttime,  tailor-fitted,  across  the  outskirts  of  his 
inattention,  or  had  ridden  barouched  and  landaued,  with  pet 
dogs  and  uniformed  slaves,  along  the  avenues  where  he  was 
wont  to  shovel  coal.  Unfamiliar  as  were  the  habits  of 
Dolly  Van  Dream  to  him,  and  as  remote  from  his  compre 
hension,  she  was  as  clear  as  beer  compared  with  the  sprite 
who  now  welcomed  him  with  a  fairy  smile.  The  most  he 
could  be  sure  of  was  that  he  was  welcomed.  The  ray  of 
delight  she  emanated  bathed  him  and  refreshed. 

The  lady  has  been  already  described  with  ambiguous 
tropes  ;  but  who  can  describe  the  impression  she  made  upon 
the  rods  and  cones  of  Haulick  Smagg's  retina,  the  wild  at 
tempts  of  Haulick  Smagg's  optic  nerve  to  telegraph  an 
impossible  translation  of  the  reaction  to  Haulick  Smagg's 

f  280  1 


SMAGG'S    FLORESCENCE 


poor  brain  ?  He  saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  or  dreamed  he  saw, 
or,  in  some  unique  intoxication,  saw,  or  felt,  a  creature  all 
gray-and-silver  shimmery,  slenderly  tender,  mystic,  wrapped 
in  a  perfumed  mood  —  a  smiling,  feminine  something  that 
drew  him  as  by  a  spell  and  made  him  glad.  Such  a  costume 
was  as  provocative  to  his  imagination  as  such  a  face.  He 
glowed  and  turned  faint.  There  were  jewels,  too,  upon 
that  form  ;  doll's  hands  and  arms,  a  rapturous  throat  and 
neck,  and  fragrant  hair  all  curls  and  billows.  Slowly,  one 
by  one,  the  details  came  out  of  the  mist  of  her  presence. 
He  swallowed  his  tobacco  in  his  pleasant  alarm.  His 
shovel  dropped  upon  the  floor. 

She  greeted  him  as  if  he  had  been  a  long-lost  friend,  or  a 
rich  uncle  from  Cambodia,  dripping  rubies.  If  there  were 
symptoms  of  surprise,  they  were  hidden  on  the  instant  in  the 
chime  of  her  laughter.  She  laughed  for  a  full  minute  bv 
the  clock,  then  reeled  to  a  chair  and  laughed  again.  At 
last  she  rose  with  more  dignity  and  held  forth  her 
hand. 

"  I  'm  delighted  to  see  you,"  she  said.  "Do  sit  down 
and  tell  me  your  name.  I  presume  you  came  in  answer  to 
my  message." 

u  I  came  for  that  hundred  dollars,"  said  Haulick  Smagg, 
and  his  voice  growled  and  grumbled  through  the  room. 

She  jumped  up  as  if  she  had  been  touched  off  with  a 
match,  and  exploded  again  into  laughter.  Then  from  her 
escritoire  she  drew  the  missing  portion  of  the  bank  note  and 
tendered  it. 

He  plucked  it  from  her,  scrutinized  it,  and  matched  it  with 
the  other  half,  which  had  lain  hidden  in  his  fist.  A  smile 
broke  through  the  gloom  of  grime  on  his  face,  and  the  two 
fragments,  reunited  at  last,  were  closed  in  upon  by  the  fin- 

[281  ] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


and 
few 
and 


gers  of  his  big  right  hand.      From  that  moment,  even  to  the 
end,  the  money  never  left  his  grasp. 

She  motioned  him  to  a  seat,  straightened  her  face,  and 
spoke  to  him.  "  Who  are  you,  Vulcan  ?  " 

"Haulick  Smagg.  I 'm  a  coal-heaver.  I  worked  for 
Blackstone  and  Company,  but  I  was  fired  today.  What  do 
you  want,  anyway  ?  " 

"  What  do  I  want  ?  I  want  you,  Blackamoor  !  Not  till 
a  minute  ago  did  I  know  what  I  did  want,  but  now  I 
know." 

Something  of  this  got  into  the  mire  of  his  brain 
stirred  him  ;  he  rose,  black  and  mighty,  and  lurched  a 
steps  nearer  her.  She  evaded  him  like  a  sunbeam 
laughed  again.  "  Sit  down,"  she  commanded,  and  a  new 
note  in  her  voice  took  away  his  strength.  Fie  dropped  like 
a  carcass  into  a  chair. 

"  Let  me  think,"  she  murmured.  "  It  was  my  whim  to 
play  with  Fate,  to  win  Destiny  to  my  side,  to  challenge 
Fortune  rather  than  play  my  wit  in  my  first  encounter  with 
this  town.  I  sent  my  message  to  Chance  and  you  were 
the  answer,  it  seems."  She  looked  at  him  from  under  her 
golden  brows  fixedly.  u  What  do  you  mean,  I  wonder?" 

"  What  d'  you  mean   yourself?"      He   crossed    his   long 

legs. 

She  still  stared  at  him  and  continued  :  "  I  take  you, 
Caliban  ;  I  take  you,  shirt  and  shovel,  cap  and  clumsiness, 
dirt,  dust,  and  cinders.  No,  I  forswear  the  coal  dust.  I  '11 
have  you  laundered."  She  rose  and  shook  a  finger  at  him. 
"  And  then,  by  Frankenstein,  I  '11  make  and  model  you  - 
I  '11  tool  you  over  and  file  you  down,  pump  a  soul  into  you, 
infuse  you  with  fame.  I  '11  finance  and  exploit  you,  and 
set  you  walking  up  Broadway.  Come,  would  you  like  to 

[  282  ] 


SMAGGS   FLORESCENCE 


be   reborn?      Would    you   flower,   Monster?     Would  you 
cajole  a  metropolis  ?  " 

He  looked  awkwardly  about  him.  "  Got  any  beer  ?  " 
he  said. 

She  walked  to  a  cabinet,  took  down  a  curious  netted  flask 
and  poured  a  high-waisted  glassful  and  handed  it  to  him  like 
Circe.  It  was  down  in  an  instant.  He  almost  bit  the 
glass,  then  smacked  his  lips  and  heaved  a  sigh. 

Now  she  dared  approach  him,  and  her  gaze  was  that  of 
a  snake. 

u  I  have  you  !  "  she  whispered.  "  Forget  !  "  She  ex 
tended  her  fore  and  little  ringers. 

There  was  no  visible  effect  at  first.  His  wild  eyeballs 
still  roved  the  room.  His  tongue  was  still  seen  cuddling 
the  roof  of  his  mouth  for  the  last  flavor  of  the  liquor;  but 
as  she  stared  at  him  he  shrunk  a  little  and  his  personality 
grew  less  insistent.  He  did  not  know  yet  that  he  was  con 
quered,  and  tried  at  intervals  to  talk.  But  gradually  peace 
enveloped  him  ;  his  muscles  relaxed,  all  but  those  that  held 
his  fingers  tight  about  his  fortune.  With  a  gesture  of  sud 
den  shame  his  greasy  cap  came  off,  his  left  hand  awkwardly 
stroked  his  hair,  he  attempted  furtively  to  kick  his  coal 
shovel  out  of  sight. 

The  lady's  gaze  softened  now,  and  she  curled  herself 
into  a  corner  of  a  huge  divan.  She  still  watched  him,  but 
her  curiosity  seemed  constructive,  as  if  she  travailed  with 
his  recreation.  Her  brows  sprang  in  a  tense  arch  ;  her  fore 
head  puckered  ;  a  smile  came  and  went,  evanescent ;  her 
nostrils  dilated  once  in  a  while,  as  if  impulsed  by  some 
bolder  whim. 


new. 


"  The  land  of  possibilities,"  she  murmured,  "  the  city  of 
solecisms  !      What  path  shall  your  feet  tread,  my  amiable 

1 283  ] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


ogre  ?  What  walls  shall  you  destroy  for  me,  my  battering 
ram  ?  When  you  are  painted  and  powdered,  when  you 
are  frocked  and  finished,  where  shall  I  ride  you  rough 
shod  ?  What  prestige  shall  harness  you  wherewith  to 
haul  my  chariot  ?  Oh,  well,  it  suffices  that  the  game  is 
begun."  She  stretched  herself  and  yawned.  "  Now  for 
the  christening  ! " 

She  went  to  the  telephone  and  called  up  the  tonsorial 
establishment  on  the  eleventh  floor. 

a  Send  two  big  barbers,"  she  commanded,  "  with  soap  and 
towels,  razors,  scissors,  combs,  a  quart  of  violet  water, 
and  a  ton  of  energy.  I  pay  by  the  hour."  She  hung 
up  and  went  back  to  the  couch. 

If  Haulick  Smagg  was  drunk,  it  was  a  new  form  of  in 
toxication.  Rather  was  it  a  dorming  dream  he  was  sunk  in, 
or  a  manner  of  psychological  enchantment.  But  the  very 
air  he  breathed  bewildered  him.  New  sights  dazzled  him. 
The  apparition  on  the  couch  seduced  his  mood.  All  had 
been  strange  since  noon;  all  grew  steadily  stranger.  He  was 
off  the  earth  now,  without  mental  foothold,  without  expe 
rience,  without  knowledge  of  this  quaint  form  of  existence. 
It  was  easier  not  to  think,  not  to  wonder,  not  to  look  for 
ward.  He  drifted  as  if  in  sleep,  lulled,  beatified,  non- 
expectant,  serene.  Blackstone's  coal  yard  receded  towards 
infinity.  Ten  minutes  before,  his  heaven  lay  in  Beer.  He 
had  reveled  in  the  prospect  of  a  ten  days'  carouse,  of  which 
the  hundred-dollar  bill  in  his  hand  was  prophet.  Even  that 
joyous  future  now  lost  color  and  grew  dim  in  this  tran 
scendent  well-being;  but  he  held  to  the  money  in  his  fist, 
nevertheless,  though  he  cared  little  and  less  every  moment 
whether  or  not  that  egg  of  hope  ever  hatched. 

These   hazy,    vagrom    speculations    ceased    suddenly    at 

[284] 


SMAGG'S   FLORESCENCE 


the  entrance  of  two  white-clothed  hair-dressers.  He  was 
fallen  upon  forthwith  and  dragged  incontinently  into  the 
bathroom  and  ordered  to  strip. 

He  wondered  vaguely  where  his  will  had  gone,  that  he 
obeyed  with  such  docility.  A  colloquy  came  to  him  through 
the  keyhole,  as  his  hostess  gave  her  orders  with  precision. 
He  had  time  but  to  hide  his  hundred  dollars  in  his  mouth, 
when  the  room  was  filled  with  steam  and  flying  spray;  a 
torrent  of  waters  hissed  and  bubbled ;  a  warm,  wet  wave 
lapped  his  sticky  skin  ;  his  eyes  were  full  of  soap  ;  bare, 
brawny  arms  brandished  brushes ;  Italian  exclamatives 
astounded  his  ears  ;  his  skin,  lathered  and  scrubbed,  grew 
smooth  and  slippery  ;  his  ears  filled  with  water.  It  went  on 
seemingly  for  hours,  bristles  biting  his  head  and  legs  and  back. 
Then  there  came  the  sudden  shock  of  an  ice-cold  flood  freez 
ing  his  flesh,  and  he  shrank  under  the  ordeal.  Next,  he  was 
slapped  and  rubbed  with  towels,  swaddled  with  soft  linen. 
His  skin  tingled  and  glowed,  and  a  new  life  shot  into  him. 
It  was  pleasant  now  to  feel  the  click  of  scissors  in  his  hair, 
the  smooth,  sweet  stroke  of  the  razor  on  his  cheek,  the  deft 
touches  of  the  file  and  buffer  on  his  nails.  The  odor  of 
violets  was  fragrant  about  him,  a  conciliatory  powder-puff* 
played  gently  over  his  chin.  He  grew  young  and  younger, 
sweeter  and  more  soft. 

But  through  the  flood  and  suds,  the  wiping  and  the  pol 
ishing,  still  his  mouth  caged  his  bank  note,  a  wad  of  wet 
paper.  It  prevented  speech,  but  speech  was  unnecessary. 
The  barbers  worked  upon  him  like  sculptors  on  a  block  of 
marble,  fashioning  a  man.  Nor  protestation  nor  entreaty 
could  move  them,  and  Haulick  Smagg  submitted  to  the 
inevitable. 

When   he   was   dry  and   shiny,  his   hair   parted   and  his 


LADT   MECHANTE 


moustache  gone,  he  was  supported  into  an  adjacent  chamber, 
where,  set  out  in  orderly  arrangement  on  a  table,  new  raiment 
awaited  him.  Underwear  of  hitherto  unknown  form  and 
texture,  hosiery  of  impossible  sheen,  neckwear  of  simple 
chastity,  trousers,  waistcoat  and  coat  whose  shape  aston 
ished  him,  all  were  hung  and  buttoned  upon  him.  The 
process  was  long  and  intricate,  but  when  Haulick  Smagg, 
complete  and  cap-a-pie,  approached  a  cheval  glass  with 
timorous  apprehension,  he  met  a  stranger  resembling,  to 
his  mind,  some  plausible  villain  of  some  Bowery  melo 
drama.  That  it  was  indeed  he  himself  did  not  occur  to 
him  for  several  minutes.  The  image  perplexed  him,  and  he 
turned  away  to  accustom  himself  to  strange  weights  and 
surfaces,  tight  feelings  here  and  there  in  zones  that  had  all 
his  life  been  free.  There  was  a  cool  stiffness  about  his 
wrists,  a  brittle,  crackling  plane  encasing  his  chest.  His 
feet  were  bound  with  new  stresses  and  new  strains ;  his 
cheeks  and  chin  felt  naked  ;  his  pockets  were  all  wrong  and 
empty.  Yet,  strangely,  he  liked  the  sensation.  Nothing 
about  him  reminded  him  of  Haulick  Smagg,  but  he  felt  a 
tolerant,  friendly  interest  in  himself,  as  in  a  stranger  who 
might  invite  him,  possibly,  to  take  a  drink.  Thus  amiably 
constrained,  he  was  pushed  by  the  two  barbers  into  the  re 
ception  room  and  left  alone  with  his  expectant  hostess. 

It  is  the  test  of  excellency  in  any  profession  not  to  be 
branded  by  one's  occupation  so  as  to  be  infallibly  recog 
nized  as  of  it.  Haulick  Smagg  was  too  much  of  an  artist 
in  coal-heaving  to  show,  especially  in  his  rehabilitation,  the 
slightest  trace  of  his  trade.  Lean  and  gaunt  he  was,  with 
high  cheek  bones  and  smallish,  violet  eyes.  His  hands 
were  large  and  bony,  his  feet  long  and  wide.  With 
the  coal  dust  washed  off,  his  face  showed  keenly  alert, 

f  286  1 


SMAGG'S    FLORESCENCE 


almost  intelligent.  When  he  smiled,  there  was  a  charm 
about  him  like  the  charm  of  a  child,  compelling,  irresist 
ible.  In  short,  as  he  stood  there,  immaculate  and  tailored, 
there  was  subtle  evidence  in  his  being  of  an  inchoate 
personality  that  might  prove  susceptible  and  sensitive  in  its 
reaction  upon  environment. 

Let  us  not  scrutinize  Lady  Mechante's  methods  with 
her  protege  too  closely.  How  she  wormed  herself  into  his 
brain,  tightened  a  screw  here,  strung  a  wire  there,  drove  a 
few  nails  to  hang  thoughts  on,  and  installed  a  few  primary 
principles  of  etiquette  and  culture,  need  not  be  disclosed. 
Scrub  and  shave  a  stevedore  yourself,  and  you  will  find  how 
amenable  he  is  to  formative  processes  when  immaculate 
and  rehabilitated.  Lady  Mechante  was  patient  and  perse 
vering  and  inspired  with  a  sense  of  humor.  Her  patient 
breathed  pure  oxygen  in  her  presence,  and  was  stimulated 
till  he  vibrated  with  overtones.  So  one  may  string  a  cocoa- 
nut  shell  with  catgut  and  a  master's  bow  may  call  forth 
harmonies. 

His  first  tuitions  were  practical  and  utilitarian  ;  a  dash 
of  persiflage,  an  epigram,  a  lively  limerick  or  two,  and  the 
art  of  complimenting  a  lady  without  having  his  face  slapped, 
came  later  in  the  game.  He  was  taught  to  enter  a  room 
less  like  a  giraffe  than  a  gazelle.  He  was  taught  to  leave 
it  with  a  trail  of  fire.  Not  to  be  too  interested  nor  too 
bored,  to  preserve  the  fine  natural  distinction  of  his  person 
ality, —  these  and  other  graces  she  instilled  in  words  of  one 
syllable. 

Then,  rudiments  of  art  and  culture  she  taught  him, 
primary  working  axioms,  the  maxims  of  the  elect.  She 
taught  him  to  say,  wistfully,  after  an  egregious  piano  solo 

[  287! 


LADY   MECHANTE 


had  finished,  "  What  is  that  ?  "  She  taught  him  how  to 
criticize  pictures  without  being  caught,  how  to  use  u  con 
vincing  "  and  "  sincere."  She  disclosed  the  mysterious  art 
of  evading  invitations.  She  showed  him  the  three  answers 
to  the  awful  inquiry  :  "  How  d'  you  do,  Mr.  Smagg  !  —  you 
don't  remember  me,  do  you  ?  "  She  resolved  him,  in  fact, 
the  patter  of  the  cognoscenti,  the  shibboleths  of  the  inner 
few.  So  in  music,  so  in  art,  etiquette,  and  literature; 
maxims,  a  well-selected  phrase-book,  enough  to  carry  him 
up  the  first  flight  of  stairs  in  the  abode  of  ^Esthetics. 

In  all  this  his  fly-paper  memory  let  no  word  escape. 
What  he  could  not  understand  he  learned  by  rote  and 
practiced  like  a  machine ;  but  no  one  would  have  known 
the  difference. 

How  did  she  gain  his  complaisance  ?  There  was  some 
thing  of  glamour,  something  of  hypnotic  suggestion  in  it. 
The  exotic  atmosphere  induced  a  mood  of  dream.  The 
novelty  of  his  environment  acted  on  him  subtly  like  radium 
upon  a  diamond.  His  elements  suffered  allotropic  modifi 
cation.  Not  that  he  realized  any  of  this.  He  was  led  like 
a  steer  to  the  butcher.  He  groped  dimly  forward  as  if 
through  jelly.  It  was  enough  for  him  the  first  evening  that, 
though  he  was  fed  with  strange  viands  at  a  little  pink-lit 
table  and  irrigated  with  rare  vintages,  at  the  end  he  still 
had  his  hundred-dollar  bill,  now  not  clutched  in  his  horny 
palm,  but  safe  ensconced  in  a  corner  of  his  white  waistcoat 
pocket.  His  clothes  upheld  him  with  dignity  like  the 
armor  of  a  knight.  If  Lady  Mechante  turned  aside  to 
giggle  on  occasion  at  his  legerdemain  with  knife  or  spoon, 
his  jugglery  with  mushrooms,  he  did  not  perceive  the  cause. 
Once  started  on  his  career,  his  patience  and  willingness 
were  pathetic. 

[288] 


SMAGG'S    FLORESCENCE 


She  did  not  let  him  go,  however,  without  the  rehearsal  of 
a  dialogue  that  was  to  ensue  upon  the  morrow.  Already 
the  story  of  his  meeting  with  Miss  Van  Dream  had  been 
corkscrewed  out  of  him  between  the  fish  and  the  entree. 
Mr.  Smagg,  with  his  thick  tongue  loosened  with  Chateau 
Yquem  (he  damned  it,  under  his  breath,  as  having  u  too 
much  sugar  into  it,"  but  drank  it  nevertheless),  struggled 
valorously  with  a  description  of  the  girl  till  his  hostess 
screamed  with  glee.  She  gleaned  from  the  expected  inter 
view  a  hope  of  conquest.  By  that  her  scheme  would  be 
made  easy  ;  so  Smagg  was  put  through  the  paces  he  was 
to  step  at  the  studio  in  a  polite  dialogue  fraught  with  an 
occult  policy. 

At  midnight  Haulick  Smagg,  still  in  evening  clothes, 
still  with  a  faint  odor  of  violets  upon  him,  descended  the 
elevator  of  the  Flatiron  Building  the  bonded  slave  of  my 
Lady  Mechante.  It  was  dangerous  to  let  him  loose  to 
rove  alone  in  search,  perhaps,  of  his  heaven  of  beer,  but  it 
could  not  be  helped.  Destiny  had  sent  him;  let  Destiny 
guide  him  safe.  His  instructions,  carefully  written  upon 
heliotrope  notepaper,  sent  him  across  the  street  to  the 
nearest  hotel.  This  he  entered,  and  here  he  took  a  room. 
A  half-hour  later,  Lady  Mechante,  her  head  out  of  her 
seventeenth-story  window,  questioning  the  night,  imagined 
she  could  hear  his  snores. 


[289 


Chapter  Wyctt 

HIGHBROW   HALL 

Nay  then,  I  see  that  tbou  art  but  a  puisne 
In  the  subtle  mystery  of  a  woman. 

(The  Revenger's  Tragedy.) 

JGHBROW  HALL  is  like  a  huge  sponge, 
in  whose  multitudinous  labyrinthine  holes 
are  housed  the  maddest  cranks  in  the  city 
of  New  York.  It  is  the  abode  of  a  thou 
sand  freaks.  There  are  over  twelve  hun 
dred  suites  of  apartments  in  this  big,  blonde 
building,  and  each  room  contains  an  inmate  insaner  than 
the  next. 

A  mass  of  intricate,  hard-paved,  cross-cut  corridors  and 
tunnels —twelve  stories  of  catacombs,  covering  heaven 
knows  how  many  acres  in  extent.  To  traverse  its  mysteri 
ous  halls  and  staircases  is  like  threading  the  returning, 
elusive  vagaries  of  a  nightmare. 

The  halls  are  usually  deserted,  but  not  silent,  for  of  a 
sudden,  if  it  be  Sunday  morning  for  instance,  the  whole 
fabric  groans  and  trembles  with  the  titanic  vibrations  of  an 
orchestra  pent  in  some  small  room  in  the  secret  entrails  of 
the  house,  and  the  mellow  pounding  of  kettledrums  fills 
every  artery  of  the  place  ;  while  quaintly  above  the  strains 
of  Palestrina  echo  from  some  jubilant  choral  society  over 
your  head. 

[  29°] 


HIGHBROW   HALL 


"  Curfews  Shall  Not  Ring  Tonight  !  "  have  at  you 
through  keyholes,  from  mad  pupils  of  mad  elocutionary 
teachers,  and  as  for  u  Papa's  Letters,"  why,  they  sweep 
them  up  in  dozens  in  the  hallways  every  morning  ! 

Artistic  to  the  bone  are  the  Highbrows.  Art  comes  high 
in  this  asylum,  but  one  must  have  it.  Maids  and  widows 
who  paint  on  plush  and  placque,  by  their  hair  you  shall  know 
them.  Starving  musicians  and  teachers  sublet  and  double 
sublet  their  rooms,  their  pianos,  their  reputations,  and, 
forced  from  their  lairs  and  Lares  u  from  I  to  3  on  Tue., 
Thu.  and  Sat.,"  are  forced  to  walk  the  streets.  Frail  girls 
chum  together  in  one  room,  suspicious  with  Japanese  screens 
and  couches,  behind  which  one  dares  not  look  for  fear  of 
finding  a  cook-stove  or  bath.  Where  in  heaven's  name 
do  they  sleep  ?  In  the  grand  piano  ?  Beware  of  any  par 
ticularly  plausible-looking  bookcase  —  ask  no  questions  of 
oak  bureaus  whose  drawers  will  not  open.  What  econo 
mies  are  dovetailed  into  this  pile  !  What  illicit  cuisines ! 
What  bathrooms  made  over  into  pantries  or  nurseries  ! 
Children  ?  One  sees  them  in  the  kindergarten  on  the  ninth 
floor  only.  Their  mothers  are  above  in  the  gymnasium, 
taking  lessons  in  golf.  There  are  no  homes  in  Highbrow 
Hall  —  only  studios. 

There  are  Schools  of  Dramatic  Art,  too  ;  and  women 
journalists,  where  they  read  "papers,"  as  women  will,  and 
discuss  them  over  tea  ;  where  it  is  "  sociable,"  thanks  to  the 
presence  of  men  in  bygone  collars  and  white  satin  em 
broidered  ties,  contributors,  they,  to  the  weeklies  of  the 
Middle  West. 

But  we  are  not  half  down  the  corridor  yet.  We  pass  a 
few  assorted  poets,  supported  by  wives  who  give  "  talks  "  at 
three  dollars  per  listener.  If  she  does  n't  talk  Hegel,  or 

[  291  ] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


Verlaine,  or  the  newest  Neo-Celtic  poet,  she  talks  Veroni, 
and  the  influence  of  the  earlier  post-Raphaelites,  or  she 
monologues  away  on  Brahms,  and  discloses  the  archi 
tecture  of  the  Sonata  with  two  grand  pianos  and  eight- 
handed  "ensembles."  It  is  most  exciting;  especially 
when  you  're  in  the  corner  of  the  couch  with  the 
pretty  geniusette  from  Kansas  City  and  don't  have  to 
listen. 

And  then,  if  you  would  bite  the  other  side  of  the  social 
pie,  the  true  upper  crust  of  Highbrow  Flail,  come  with  me 
to  a  very  devilish  little  musicale  in  the  northeast  corner, 
down  a  secret  passage,  unsuspected  and  remote.  Here,  now, 
is  the  truly  smart  set  —  dollared  dowagers  and  men  with 
prefixes  to  their  names  (if  they  would  only  use  them),  artists 
who  receive  five  hundred  a  night  for  singing  at  aristocratic 
palaces,  Viennese  swells,  and  the  ultimate  affectations  in 
Art,  if  not  in  Society.  Here,  also,  are  a  few  timorously 
wicked  debutantes  and  ladies-who-would-be-thought-clever 
being  initiated  into  the  most  select  circles  of  Bohemia.  It 
is  a  place  which  one  boasts  of  having  been  invited  to,  and 
shudders  prettily  at  having  gone.  Your  host  is  the  spoiled 
pet  of  the  hour.  You  may  be  assured  that  the  Buda-Pesth 
street  ballad  he  exploits  languidly,  with  naughty,  half-shut 
eyes  and  alluring  smile,  is  unspeakably  risque.  Here  Mrs. 
Munich,  for  whom  every  man  in  the  room  has  a  confessed 
tendresse,  plays  shivery  Hungarian  waltzes,  retarding  the  time 
voluptuously  with  suggestive  abandon,  while  you  become 
hysterically  confidential  with  your  partner  over  the  marrons 
glaces,  and  she,  under  the  demoralizing  influence  of  such 
fantastic  harmonies,  ventures  to  smoke  half  of  a  perfumed 
Petroff  cigarette.  Here  reigns  the  Effete,  where  it  is  always 
the  end-of-the-century. 

[292] 


HIGHBROW   HALL 


It  was  in  such  an  exotic  environment  that  Miss  Dolly 
Van  Dream's  studio  was  placed,  a  secret  nook  at  the  end 
of  a  long  tunnel-like  corridor,  up  two  steps  and  round  a 
corner  on  the  avenue  front.  Within,  one  entered  through 
a  small  hall  to  a  sort  of  dining-room,  well  stocked  with 
old  oaken  furniture,  whence  one  could  see  through  a  wide 
arch  the  vast  two-story  atelier. 

The  apartment  was  suspiciously  commodious  for  the 
scant  use  Dolly  made  of  it  ;  but  any  such  suspicions  were 
futile.  Dolly  really  painted,  and  that  alone  was  crime 
enough  to  her  world,  for  in  the  social  structure  of  the 
town  the  Van  Dreams  dwelt  very  near  the  top.  Not  quite 
at  the  top,  however,  for  their  name  permeated  the  society 
columns  and  Dystart  Van  Dream  was  a  millionaire,  so 
called.  There  were  those  who  questioned  the  "  Van,"  and 
Dystart's  grandfather  was  said  to  have  been  a  cabin  boy. 
Their  position,  nevertheless,  was  what  is  called  "  assured," 
and  Dolly,  who  had  made  a  name  for  herself  on  account  of 
the  accidental  surplus  of  brains  accorded  her,  was  looked 
upon  only  with  tolerant  amusement  when  she  took  up  the 
artistic  life.  Dolly's  fads  were  well  known,  and  this  was 
by  no  means  her  first.  She  had,  in  a  way,  taken  her  cue 
from  Mrs.  Braxton-Burlap  of  Boston,  and  was  a  constant 
source  of  ct  copy  "  for  the  yellow  journals.  She  was  at 
present  still  famous  for  having  ventured  alone  into  New 
York  in  August  wearing  a  taupe  veil.  It  was  not  the  fact 
that  she  was  unaccompanied,  or  even  the  taupe  veil,  that 
made  the  story  :  it  was  because  there  was  nobody  in  New 
York  except  Dolly  Van  Dream  and  three  or  four  millions  of 
nameless  ones.  In  virtue  of  these  eccentricities  she  dwelt 
upon  the  borderland  between  Bohemia  and  Philistia  ;  her 
studio  was  a  sort  of  Debatable  Ground  where  the  guide- 

[293] 


LADT  MECHANTE 


boards  pointed  in  both  directions.  Here  were  found  both 
manners  and  customs;  the  one  coming  down  from  Society, 
the  other  coming  up  from  Art.  Here  debutantes  had  shiv 
ered  in  the  presence  of  genius,  and  talent  had  trembled  at 
the  proximity  of  wealth. 

It  was  as  near  like  the  professional  studio  as  Dolly  could 
make  it,  the  studio  of  the  successful  artist,  the  studio  of  a 
thousand  amateur  stories  in  the  ten-cent  magazines,  with 
tapestries,  old  wooden  carvings,  embroidered  altar  cloths, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know.  Dolly's  canvases 
stood  on  the  floor  turned  face  to  the  wall.  Dolly's  pur 
chases,  in  genuine  Georgian  frames,  classic  nudes  and 
impressionist  landscapes,  filled  the  vertical  acreage. 

It  was  the  hour  for  tea  and  a  precious  poet  or  two,  and 
perhaps  a  painter,  in  Dolly  Van  Dream's  studio.  A  tre 
mendous  bang  on  the  door  startled  the  tete-a-tete  at  the  tea- 
table  into  a  sharp  surprise.  Dolly  stared  and  Dante  Lilliput 
stared,  and  the  maid  ran  to  the  door.  There  was  a  colloquy 
of  which  only  the  bass  half  was  heard,  then  a  visitor  tramped 
heavily  through  the  dining-room  and  appeared  in  the  arch- 
wav.  Miss  Van  Dream  rose,  took  a  step  forward,  and 
gazed  with  puzzled  curiosity. 

A  frock-suit  and  a  pair  of  large,  varnished  boots  came 
forward  to  meet  her,  propelled  by  a  creature  who  seemed  to 
have  little  part  in  them,  so  strangely  they  sat  upon  him.  The 
man  seemed  reluctant,  but  the  frock-coat  was  perfectly  will 
ing  and  agreeable.  The  frock-coat  could  not  speak  ;  neither, 
for  a  moment,  could  Haulick  Smagg,  and  Dolly  Van  Dream, 
absolutely  at  a  loss  to  account  for  his  presence,  stood  staring 
at  him  for  a  moment.  She  could  not  recognize  the  prodigy, 
of  course;  if  he  had  brought  his  shovel  with  him,  now,  it 

[  294] 


HIGHBROW  HALL 


might  have  been  different.  But  at  last  she  reached  out  a 
hand  to  him  hesitantly,  and  said:  "  Why  —  how  do  you 
do  ?  How  nice  of  you  to  come  !  You  're  just  in  time 
for  tea." 

"Thank  you,"  saiH  Mr.  Smagg,  and  he  wrung  her  hand 
with  a  terrible  grip.  Then  he  swallowed  violently,  turned 
his  eyes  to  the  wall,  caught  sight  of  the  picture  of  a  nude 
female  with  an  orange,  and  blushed. 

This  gave  Dolly  Van  Dream  no  clue  to  his  identity.  She 
tried  it  again. 

"  It 's  a  long  time  since  I  've  seen  you." 

"  Thank  you.  Did  n't  you  want  me  to  come  ?  You 
said  so  yesterday." 

It  was  now  Dolly's  turn  to  blush.  She  did  it  the  more 
prettily. 

"  Yesterday  ?  "  she  repeated. 

"You  gave  me  the  torn  hundred-dollar  bill,  you  know, 
and  the  letter." 

"  Oh  !  "  Dolly  Van  Dream  looked  at  him  with  a  new 
pair  of  eyes  as  if  at  a  toadstool  turned  orchid.  "  Really  ? 
Are  you  the  man  ?  Why,  I  thought  —  oh,  1  see!  Some 
thing  did  happen,  then  ?  "  She  looked  him  up  and  she 
looked  him  down,  while  his  eyes  roved  stealthily  about 
the  room. 

"  Thank  you."  He  threw  it  at  her,  all  he  could  recall 
that  might  fit,  waiting  for  another  cue. 

"  Do  sit  down  and  tell  me  all  about  it  !  "  Dolly  pointed 
to  a  chair  and  to  the  minor  poet,  then  hesitated.  "  It 's 
awkward,  but  I  can't  quite  recall  your  name." 

"  Haulick  Smagg."  He  dropped  into  the  chair  with  a 
thud. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Lilliput,  let  me   present  Mr.  Smagg.      He  's 


LADT  MECHANTE 


just  had  a  curious  experience.  Now  do  tell  me  about  it, 
Mr.  Smagg." 

His  answer  came  as  from  an  automaton,  as  he  tried  to 
remember  Lady  Mechanic's  phrases.  His  mind  held  fear 
at  the  strangeness  of  his  situation,  but  its  very  difficulty  pre 
vented  his  collapse.  He  had  a  part  to  perform,  and  there 
was  something  in  the  will  of  the  brute  that  urged  him  on, 
though  it  was  like  walking  a  tight  rope  in  the  dark.  He 
groped  mentally  for  his  mistress's  hand  to  guide  him  ;  men 
tally  he  shut  his  eyes  and  plodded  dully  forward,  why,  he 
knew  not,  unless,  indeed,  it  were  for  the  hundred-dollar 
bill  that  Miss  Van  Dream  had  promised  him  and  which  he 
had  promised  not  to  accept. 

He  shut  his  eyes  in  order  to  concentrate  his  attention  and 
declaimed:  "You  thought  I  was  a  coal-heaver.  I  ain't 
a  coal-heaver.  Sociologist.  Studying  the  Submerged 
Tenth.  Investigating  the  drinking  habits  of  the  lower 
classes.  Collecting  data  for  three  years.  My  thesis  for  a 
Doctor's  degree.  l  The  Lower  Classes  attain  their  Maxi 
mum  Capacity  for  Alcoholic  Beverages  on  Tuesdays  at  7.16 
p.  M.  Minimum  on  Fridays  at  3.05  A.  M.'  I  plot  statistics 
collected  by  actual  personal  research.  Diagrams,  showing 
diurnal  inebriety  on  cross-section  paper,  show  bibacity- 
curvc  of  equation,  x2  X  y  =  2  G.  l  G  '  is  weekly  income." 

How  relieved  he  was  now  he  had  got  it  out !  He 
opened  his  eyes  and  looked  about  him.  Dolly  Van  Dream 
was  gazing  wonderingly.  Mr.  Lilliput  had  his  mouth  open, 
and  his  false  teeth  gleamed. 

"  What  a  splendid  work  !  "  she  ejaculated.  "  Is  n't  it, 
Mr.  Lilliput?  Why,  it  ought  to  solve  the  whole  drink 
problem,  surely  !  But  I  confess  I  can't  quite  see  yet  how 
the  theory  can  be  applied." 


HIGHBROW   HALL 


"  Applied  "  was  his  cue  for  something  —  but  what  ?  He 
had  forgotten,  but  he  made  a  brave  attempt. 

"  Only  an  advertising  scheme,"  he  ventured. 

Now,  this  was  the  answer  to  a  wholly  different  question, 
as  he  perceived  dimly  by  Miss  Van  Dream's  expression. 
He  was  quite  over  his  head  now  and  struggled  madly.  "  It 
is  quite  natural  that  you  should  be  amazed,"  he  brought 
out  -,  a  remark  which  should  have  come  earlier  in  the 
conversation. 

Dolly  was  indubitably  amazed,  and  her  curiosity  was  still 
unsatisfied.  "  But  what  happened  in  the  Flatiron  Build 
ing  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"The  collection  of  statistics  and  plotting  of  tendency- 
curves  is  an  end,  not  a  means,  in  the  science  of  Sociology. 
Ten  diagrams  make  one  doctor's  degree."  He  looked  up 
in  triumph.  What  if  he  had  his  replies  mixed?  His 
gipsy  memory  had  not  failed  in  his  phrasing. 

Mr.  Lilliput  was  obviously  impressed.  "I  say,"  he 
exclaimed,  "you  ought  to  get  a  jolly  good  lot  of  material 
down  there.  Human  nature  in  the  rough  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing.  I  never  saw  a  drunken  man  in  my  life  !  ' 

Haulick  Smagg  turned  his  head,  ga/,ed  at  the  poet,  and 
spoke  :  "  Well,  you  won't  be  a  man  till  you  get  full,  I  '11 
tell  you  that  !  "  He  added  something  further  about  a  "  mag 
got,"  but  it  was  lost  in  a  growl. 

Dolly  pieced  it  out  to  suit  herself.  "  So  you  were  really 
in  disguise  yesterday?"  she  said.  "How  interesting  and 
romantic  !  But  did  you  get  the  other  half  of  the  hundred- 
dollar  bill  ?  Do  tell  me  just  what  happened." 

"New  brand  of  soap.  They  wanted  a  name.  I  told 
'em  l  Latherinc.' ' 

u  Oh,  I  sec."      Dolly  sighed. 

[297] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


"  Advertising  writers  and  press  agents  are  the  only  ro 
manticists  left  nowadays,"  Mr.  Lilliput  remarked  blandly. 
"  The  only  modern  fairy  tales  have  patent  medicines  and 
actresses  for  their  heroines." 

Haulick  Smagg  reached  for  a  piece  of  toast  on  the  tea- 
table  and  crammed  it  into  his  mouth.  It  recalled  Dolly  to 
the  amenities. 

"Oh,  do  have  some  tea,  Mr.  Smagg.  Perhaps  I  should 
call  you  Professor."  She  poured  him  out  a  cup. 

"  I  got  the  hundred  dollars,"  he  said,  chewing  his  toast. 
"I  'm  going  to  give  it  to  the  poor."  Which  was,  so  far, 
his  first  original  venture,  and  in  it  showed  the  cunning  of- 
the  primitive  man.  "  /  got  that  hundred  dollars"  he  re 
peated  meaningly,  a  little  louder. 

u  Oh,  I  quite  forgot  !  I  promised  you  a  hundred  my 
self."  Dolly  jumped  up  and  sought  her  purse  on  the  shelf 
of  a  great  easel.  Then  she  turned  toward  him  hesitatingly. 
"  Of  course  I  thought  you  were  really  a  coal-heaver 
yesterday,  or  I  would  n't  have  insulted  you  by  offering  it.  I 
hardly  dare  do  so  now." 

u  For  the  poor,"  he  reiterated,  and  held  out  his  great 
hand. 

She  handed  the  yellow  bill  to  him  with  admiration.  "So 
you  are  a  philanthropist  as  well !  "  she  said. 

"  Sociologist !  "  he  corrected  -,   "  I  draw  diagrams." 

He  crowded  the  money  into  his  waistcoat  pocket,  then 
stretched  out  his  hand  for  the  cup  of  tea,  but  so  clumsily 
that  it  fell  to  the  floor  with  a  crash.  With  an  oath  he 
brought  the  sole  of  his  boot  savagely  down  upon  the 
fragments,  crushing  them  to  morsels.  His  manner  was  as 
wanton  as  if  he  were  stamping  upon  a  beetle. 

Dolly  Van  Dream  turned  white  and  the  minor  poet's 
[298] 


HIGHBROW  HALL 


eyebrows  rose,  shocked  at  an  expression  of  real  emotion. 
But  Haulick  Smagg,  having  vented  his  wrath,  grew  mild 
again.  He  took  the  second  cup  of  tea  which  Dolly  poured 
for  him  hurriedly,  emptied  it  into  his  saucer  and  gulped  it 
down  audibly.  Then,  infused  with  strength  and  courage, 
he  looked  about  him.  Singling  out  a  landscape,  an  im 
pressionistic  mosaic  of  colored  dabs,  he  thrust  out  his 
thumb  and  wiggled  it  with  a  technical  gesture. 

"  Lot  of  bully  good  stuff  in  that,"  he  said,  with  a  mag 
nificent  effect  of  sagacity.  "  I  like  this  part  in  here."  His 
thumb  described  a  small  semicircle.  "  A  bit  tricky, 
though." 

This  reinstated  him.  "  I  'm  so  glad  you  like  it,"  said 
Dolly.  "  You  really  are  discriminating.  I  hardly  dare  to 
show  you  my  own  work,  but  I  would  like  your  opinion. 
Do  tell  me  what  you  think  of  this.  It 's  only  a  study,  you 
know.  Tell  me  frankly."  She  turned  over  a  canvas, 
showing  in  bold,  vigorous  brush-work  the  half-done  head 
and  shoulders  of  a  silk-clad  girl. 

He  stared  at  it  and  clutched  his  chin  with  his  fist.  What 
was  it  Lady  Mechante  had  said  ?  There  was  a  master  key 
she  had  given  him  by  which  he  might  pick  the  lock  of  any 
social  dilemma.  Oh  yes.  "There  was  once  a  fox,"  he 
began  slowly,  wagging  his  head. 

"  Oh,  if  it  's  as  bad  as  that,  for  heaven's  sake  don't  tell 
me  ! '  Quickly  she  turned  the  canvas  about.  "  My,  you 
are  shrewd !  You  have  discovered  the  very  thing.  I  knew 
it  all  along,  of  course,  and  it  is  just  because  I  did  know  it  I 
wanted  to  be  told  it  was  n't  so." 

Dante  Lilliput  sat  up  and  took  notice.  One  could  almost 
see  him  scribbling  something  down  in  a  little  notebook  for 
future  use. 

[  299  ] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


As  for  Haulick  Smagg,  he  was  profoundly  satisfied  with 
himself.  He  was  dabbling  in  magic.  He  understood  it 
not  one  whit,  but  his  power  was.  pleasant.  This  little  vic 
tory  gave  him  the  nerve  to  walk  up  and  boldly  inspect  the 
nudes,  something  he  had  wanted  to  do  ever  since  he  entered 
the  apartment.  A  glance  back  over  his  shoulder  showed 
him  that  even  this  was  permissible.  He  ranged  from  one 
to  another,  then  reluctantly  examined  a  piece  of  still  life 
representing  a  dead  fish,  a  dozen  onions,  and  two  dishpans. 
There  was  one  last  remark  in  his  catalogue.  He  recalled 
that  it  had  to  be  effected  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and 
his  head  on  one  side.  He  assumed  the  attitude  and 
risked  it. 

"  Good,"  he  said,  "  but  why  do  it  ?  " 
He  scored  a  bullseye.  "  You  terrible  man  !  "  said  Dolly 
Van  Dream.  "You  know  everything!  Now  do  come 
back  and  be  sociable,  before  you  destroy  everything  in  my 
studio.  Mr.  Lilliput  was  just  going  to  read  me  one  of  his 
poems." 

Smagg  made  for  his  chair,  and,  dazed  with  his  success  so 
far,  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  try  another  of  the 
maxims  he  had  rehearsed  with  his  tutor.  Three  or  four 
remarks  about  pictures  she  had  taught  him,  one  or  two  on 
music  and  architecture.  What  was  that  about  poetry? 
"  The  worst  thing  about  blank  verse  is  that  it  's  usually  so 
damned  blank." 

He  tried  it.  Trite  as  it  was,  it  had  been  funny  before, 
often  enough,  and  might  be  again,  as  Lady  Mechante  knew. 
But  this  time  its  only  apparent  effect  was  to  make  the  minor 
poet  jam  his  manuscript  back  into  his  pocket  and  change  it 
for  another. 

"You    are    terribly   modern,    Mr.    Smagg,"   said    Dolly. 
[  300] 


HIGHBROW   HALL 


a  Have  n't  you  any  room  for  the  classic  in  your  soul  ?  Mr. 
Lilliput  is  of  the  neo-Greek  school." 

"I  am  the  neo-Greek  school!"  said  Dante  Lilliput.  UI 
stand  for  the  voluptuousness  of  sound,  for  colored  words  and 
phrases,  for  perfumed  cadences  and  the  mellifluous  conse 
cration  of  vowels." 

u  Let  me  feel  your  muscle,"  said  Smagg,  starting  to  his 
feet.  He  reached  out  a  paw  and  gripped  the  biceps  of  the 


Go 


on 


minor  poet  till  he  drew  forth  a  stifled  shriek. 
he  muttered.  u  You  ain't  got  no  more  'n  a  cockroach. 
Look  at  this  !  "  He  took  a  fork  in  one  hand  and  bent  it 
till  it  looked  like  a  sugar  tongs,  then  tossed  it  through  the 
archway.  Then,  suddenly,  he  wished  he  had  not  done  it, 
and  he  grinned  sillily.  Lady  Mechanic's  invisible  finger 
beckoned  him  to  safety. 

"  Miss  Van  Dream,"  he  said,  "  I  have  associated  so  long 
with  the  lower  classes  that  really  I  have  forgotten  how  to 
behave.  I  beg  your  pardon." 

Again  the  spell  worked,  and  the  effect  steadied  him.  He 
was,  during  the  whole  call,  like  a  somnambulist  traversing  a 
perilous  path,  now  hypnotically  sure  of  his  footing,  now 
suddenly  awakening  to  a  cognizance  of  dizzy  heights.  So 
he  changed  from  moods  of  security  to  sudden  embarrass 
ments  and  fears.  His  first  essays  at  repartee  had  been 
timorously  delivered,  but  he  grew  to  an  increasing  faith  in 
the  counsels  of  his  mistress.  He  felt  dimly  that  his  security 
lay  in  a  blind  acquiescence  to  her  dicta,  to  say  nothing 
original,  to  watch  for  his  cue.  Yet,  from  time  to  time,  the 
natural  man  asserted  himself  and  his  spirit  broke  loose. 

Dante  Lilliput  had  drawn  a  typewritten  manuscript  from 
his  pocket,  and,  urged  by  Dolly  Van  Dream's  honeyed  com 
pliments,  had  begun  to  read.  His  voice  flowed  evenly;  the 


LADT   MECHANTE 


drawn-out  vowels  were  given  quantity  rather  than  accent ; 
the  lines  were  intoned  monotonously  with  deep  intensity, 
as  if  each  word  were  displayed  and  valued,  a  jewel  upon  a 
necklace.  His  feathery  head  wagged  as  he  spoke : 

"  Last  night  I  slept  with  Rhodomonte, 

With  Rhodomonte  the  fair,  and  she  was  dead  ! 
Cold  were  her  breasts 
As  last  year's  nests, 

And  weary,  weary  hung  her  tired  head. 
How  should  I  know  that  Rhodomonte  was  dead  ? 
Was  she  more  cold 
Than  e'er  of  old  ? 

Was  she  more  languid  than  when  oft  I  said, 
'God,  how  I  love  you,  Rhodomonte! 
Last  night  I  slew  my  Rhodomonte, 

Slew  Rhodomonte  the  fair,  and  she  is  dead  !  " 

Dolly  Van  Dream  jumped  to  her  feet.  "  Splendid  !  " 
she  cried.  "  What  power,  what  feeling,  what  daring ! 
Ah,  that  is  poetry,  indeed,  is  it  not,  Mr.  Smagg  ? " 

Haulick  Smagg  had,  during  the  recitation,  succeeded  in 
catching  a  fly  in  his  fist  and  was  now  busy  pulling  off  its 
wings.  He  looked  up  guiltily  and  sought  in  his  phrase 
book. 

"'Take  care  of  the  sounds,  and  the  sense  will  take  care 
of  itself,'  said  Alice."  He  feared  he  had  got  it  backwards, 
but  it  was  too  late. 

"  My  theory  exactly,"  said  Dante  Lilliput.  "  Take  care  of 
the  passion  and  the  person  will  take  care  of  herself,  too." 

"Yes,"  sighed  Miss  Van  Dream.  "One's  person 
does  n't  matter.  It  's  a  wonderful  piece  of  symbolism,  I 
think.  Rhodomonte  !  How  well  I  know  her,  how  well 
we  all  know  her,  everyone  who  has  lived  and  loved  ! 

[302] 


HIGHBROW   HALL 


While  the  others  took  up  the  thread  of  their  con 
versation,  Smagg  composed  himself  to  a  passive  role  and 
studied  the  mild,  sane  tonalities  of  the  academic  oils  about 
him.  Work  like  this  he  had  seen  often  enough  hung  over 
glittering  bars,  lithographed  on  calendars,  pasted  on  the 
sides  of  tomato  tins,  man's  feeble  attempt  to  impress  the 
retina  as  nature  itself  impresses  it ;  to  do,  many,  many  de 
grees  below  in  tone,  what  the  sunlight  did.  He  saw  the 
attempts  to  capture  the  transitory  effect  of  things,  accidental 
illuminations  whose  shadows  and  half-lights  concealed  or 
distorted  the  actual  form,  the  immemorial  scholastic  attempt 
to  reproduce  mere  charm.  Every  painting  presented  a 
petty,  subjective  point  of  view,  pictured  in  heavy  pigment, 
each  one  a  deification  of  the  casual,  the  obvious,  the  tem 
porary.  All  this  he  saw,  but,  seeing,  did  not  yet  under 
stand.  He  accepted  it  as  right  and  proper  in  its  correla 
tion  with  the  unknown  qualities  of  an  unknown  culture. 
He  accepted  it  as  he  had  accepted  his  frock-coat. 
That  was  the  consistent  costume,  these  the  consistent 
properties  and  scenery  for  the  undreamed-of  drama  in 
which  he  figured.  He  was  still  in  the  dark,  but  when 
the  light  should  begin  to  come  to  him  he  was  to  perceive 
new  ideas  as  a  babe  sees  new  objects,  without  perspective 
or  distance  or  size.  What  was  near  to  him  now  seemed 
big  and  potent. 

Dante  Lilliput  meanwhile  had  let  himself  go  and  grew 
lyric.  u  Oh,  there  's  nothing  worth  writing  about  but  love. 
I  love  love  !  It 's  the  greatest  of  all  the  arts.  It  is  as  neces 
sary  to  a  man  of  genius  as  fuel  is  to  a  fire.  What  could  I 
do  without  women,  or  what  could  women  do  without  me  ? 
Do  you  know,  there  's  one  curious  district  in  this  city  like 
a  little  foreign  island  where  I  don't  know  a  single  woman  ! 

[303] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


It  is  between  Seventy-second  Street  and  Seventy-ninth,  west 
of  Broadway.  On  West  Seventy-first  Street  there's  a  girl 
named  Rose  who  is  a  perfect  violet.  On  Eightieth  Street 
there  's  a  girl  named  Violet  who  is  a  perfect  rose.  But 
between  the  two  there  's  a  vast,  arid  waste  where  not  a 
woman  knows  me,  where  not  a  woman  loves  me  !  Oh,  I 
never  dine  alone.  There  's  always  some  fresh  young  thing 
who  loves  to  look  up  at  me  and  hear  my  voice." 

"  You  do  read  your  poems  very  well,"  said  Dolly. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  do  them  justice  unless  I  'm  holding  a  girl's 
hand.  If  you  would  let  me  hold  your  hand,  now,  I  '11  re 
cite  my  '  Abnegation.'  I  always  need  a  woman's  hand  to 
sustain  me  and  give  me  magnetism.  I  need  sympathy.  I 
need  the  tremor  of  the  soul,  you  know  —  the  polarity  of 
sex." 

He  reached  forward  and  took  her  hand  in  his  velvet 
grasp,  rubbing  his  thumb  along  the  back  of  her  hand  as  he 
recited  with  vibrant,  suppressed  passion  : 

"  Sweet  !   If  thy  feet 

Trample  my  bosom  in  scornfulness, 
Why  would  my  mournfulness 
Teach  me  deceit  ? 

"  Pure  !   As  the  starlight  is  sure, 

My  love  would  accept  thy  duplicity, 
Faint  with  felicity 
So  to  endure  !  " 

"  It  really  does  thrill  me,"  sighed  Dolly.  "  Why,  I  can 
feel  it  pulsing  in  my  finger  tips  as  you  speak.  How  one 
gets  your  heart-beats  !  " 

"  Gawd  !  "  cried  Smagg,  jumping  up.     "  I  'm  sick.     Sick 

[  304] 


HIGHBROW  HALL 


as  a  horse."  He  laid  his  tremendous  hand  against  his 
stomach,  and  his  eyes  rolled  up. 

"What's  the  matter?  Don't  you  like  it?"  the  poet 
asked  stiffly. 

ct  It 's  that  damn  drink  there.  I  ain't  used  to  swallowing 
slops  like  that." 

"  Would  you  like  a  little  Scotch  ?  "  Dolly  asked. 

"  Huh  ?  " 

"  I  have  some  Scotch  whiskey  here." 

"  Gawd,  have  you  ?  "  The  very  word  restored  him  and 
he  looked  wistfully  about.  Miss  Van  Dream  arose  and 
sought  the  decanter.  He  grabbed  it  from  her,  doused  out 
a  tall  glassfull,  and  poured  it  into  his  mouth.  Then  he 
wiped  his  lips  with  the  back  of  his  hand  and  gave  a  satisfied 
grunt,  while  the  liquor  stung  its  way  down  his  alimentary 
canal  and  tore  at  his  vitals.  He  looked  proudly  about 
the  room  for  a  while,  then  his  gaze  centered  upon  Dante 
Lilliput. 

"  Put  that  man  out  !  "  he  thundered.  "  I  want  to  talk 
to  you.  I  like  you,  but  I  ain't  got  no  use  for  a  poll-parrot !  " 

Miss  Dolly  Van  Dream  had  backed  to  the  other  side  of 
the  table,  and  now  her  voice  came  proud  but  tremulous. 
"  Mr.  Smagg,"  she  said,  tc  I  can't  stand  this  exhibition, 
really.  I  'm  sorry,  but  I  '11  have  to  ask  you  to  leave  if 
you  can't  contain  yourself." 

A  thin,  small  memory  of  Lady  Mechante  managed  to 
reach  his  brain,  and  he  keyed  down  a  little.  "  Miss 
Van  Dream,"  he  said,  "  I  have  'sociated  s'long  with  the 
lower  classes  —  really  forgot  how  to  behave.  Beg  y' 
pardon." 

"  Oh,  it 's  all  right ;  don't  apologize,  I  beg  of  you  !  " 
Miss  Van  Dream  came  out  from  behind  the  table. 

20  [    305    ] 


LADY  MECHANTE 


Mr.  Lilliput  rose  and  spoke  suavely.  "  The  scientific 
mind,  I  suppose,  is  apt  to  find  the  poetic  temperament 
heretical.  I  can  quite  understand,  Mr.  Smagg,  how  - 

"Mister  yourself!  "  He  bellowed  it  forth.  The  wire 
of  his  psychic  telephone  with  the  Fairy  of  the  Flatiron  was 
now  rent  asunder.  "  I  'm  going  to  go  over  there  and  step 
on  you,  you  rocking  horse  !  " 

At  this  Dolly  displayed  a  sudden  unwonted  energy  and 
proved  herself  a  Van  Dream.  She  spoke  deliberately.  u  I 
must  positively  ask  you  to  leave  us  now,  Mr.  Smagg  !  " 

He  wheeled  on  her  like  a  thirteen-inch  gun.  u  Gimme 
my  hat !  "  he  said. 

She  drew  herself  up  proudly. 

"  Gimme  my  hat !  " 

She  wilted  and  cowered.  Then  she  reached  under  his 
chair,  took  his  silk  hat,  and  gave  it  to  him  abjectly.  Dante 
Lilliput  turned  the  pages  of  a  little  book  nervously,  and 
made  himself  small  by  the  window. 

"  Gimme  my  stick  !" 

She  waited  on  him,  her  eyes  fixed  on  his ;  though, 
strangely  enough,  in  hers  there  was  no  symptom  of  fear. 

Smagg  fished  a  pair  of  yellow  gloves  from  his  hip 
pocket  and  dipped  his  hands  into  them,  dragged  them  over 
his  fingers,  and  jammed  in  his  thumbs. 

"  I  have  to  thank  you  for  a  very  pleasant  time,  Miss 
Van  Dream." 

Haulick  Smagg  tramped  out  of  the  room,  opened  the 
door,  and  slammed  it  behind  him.  The  walls  shook  with 
the  concussion. 


Chapter  Jfour 


BLUE   BLOOD   AND    RED 

Ob,   Slime !  oby    Brickbat !  do  not  you   know    that   comparisons 
are  odious  ? 

(A  Woman  Killed  with  Kindness.) 

HE  has  been  called,  heretofore,  Lady  Me- 
chante,  apparently  in  a  spirit  of  jest,  even 
as  she  herself  had  adopted  the  name  of 
Madelaine  Mischief.  But,  and  may  it 
not  prejudice  you  against  her,  a  lady  she 
was  in  very  sooth,  and  hight  Mechante. 
She  has  been  seen  before  this  working  overtime  in  social 
harness  in  Mayfair.  She  has  been  seen  in  her  dramatic 
exit  from  the  dinner-table  of  Madame  Qui-Vive.  This 
was  interregnum,  to  be  sure  ;  but  she  had  her  rights,  her 
styles,  and  her  privileges  in  that  high  world  as  the  wife 
of  Lord  Mechante,  her  first  husband.  The  dainty  coronet 
upon  the  side  of  her  six-cylinder  Pancake  car,  therefore, 
was  in  a  way  justified.  She  was,  it  is  true,  a  good  deal 
more  proud  of  her  extra  attachable  wheel,  her  electric  horn, 
and  several  shiny  brass  attachments  on  the  dashboard.  Yet 
the  insignia,  with  its  motto,  "  Why  not  ?  "  was  placed  there 
for  a  reason.  Every  afternoon  at  four  found  Lady  Mechante 
in  a  black  and  white  double  veil  and  an  oleander  princess 
gown  at  the  sportily  whipped  steering  wheel  of  her  racing 
runabout,  a  long,  low,  lead-colored  craft  with  a  wicked, 
raking  running  board  that  made  it  look  like  a  torpedo 

[307] 


LADT  MECHANTE 


destroyer.  It  was  a  car  any  traffic  officer  might  be  ex 
cused  for  arresting  on  sight.  As  it  crept  up  Fifth  Avenue, 
still  as  a  mouse,  at  six  miles  an  hour,  it  seemed  to  be  doing 
twenty-three,  at  least.  When  she  opened  the  throttle  on 
Riverdale  Avenue,  it  went  up  the  oily,  heart-breaking  hill 
like  butter  sliding  off  a  hot  plate.  But  Lady  Mechante 
was  seldom  arrested  ;  her  eyes  prevented.  Hats  came  off 
and  apologies  were  offered  on  occasion,  and  the  officers 
forgot  her  number. 

There  was  one  number,  however,  that  Lady  Mechante 
herself  did  not  forget;  it  was  38,002.  This,  as  she  had 
taken  pains  to  discover,  registered  a  thirty  horse-power 
Hustler  belonging  to  Wrestling  Brewster  Bradford,  of 
Number  3  Madison  Avenue.  She  was  going  to  play 
with  Wrestling  Brewster  Bradford,  and  play  hard.  She 
had  picked  him,  as  an  American  of  the  Americans,  Boston 
born  but  New  York  bred.  Her  delectable  coal-heaver 
was  not  to  absorb  her  whole  energy.  She  intended  to 
use  them  both  ;  the  contrast  appealed  exquisitely  to 
her. 

For  this  reason  she  patrolled  Madison  Avenue,  and  cor 
rupted  the  floorman  of  her  Thirty-second  Street  garage, 
questing  her  prey.  Sometimes,  as  she  was  directing  the 
change  of  a  spark  plug,  Mr.  Bradford  would  come  in  and 
go  out  with  his  car,  the  Hustler  with  a  toy  tonneau,  which 
he  was  old-fashioned  enough  sometimes  to  drive  himself. 
Then  down  went  the  hood  of  the  Pancake  and  it  was 
snapped  and  strapped;  up  went  the  chauffeuse  into  the  low 
seat,  and  she  was  out  and  after  him  as  stealthily  as  a  gray 
snake. 

Many  such  pursuits  were  made  in  vain  ;  she  escaped  his 
notice  usually,  but  he  afforded  her  no  opportunity  for  the 

[308] 


BLUE   BLOOD   AND    RED 


achievement  of  her  plot.  His  visits  to  his  publishers  and  to 
magazine  editors  and  the  like  kept  her  in  the  heart  of  the 
traffic  where  the  going  was  slow.  She  encountered  him 
occasionally  in  the  Park  or  on  Riverside  Drive,  but  here 
there  was  as  little  chance.  She  needed  an  empty  road  for 
immunity. 

So  she  stalked  her  quarry  for  a  week  without  avail.  On 
the  nineteenth  of  April  she  discovered  him  in  the  Hustler, 
which  was  decorated  with  a  small  American  flag  in  honor 
of  the  shot  that  was  heard  around  the  world.  This  was 
at  five  o'clock,  hard  by  Grant's  Tomb.  38,002  swept 
by  her,  going  downhill  under  the  guidance,  this  time,  of  a 
leather-clad  chauffeur.  Lady  Mechante  turned  immediately 
in  a  great  curve  and  was  after  him.  Across  the  Viaduct 
she  purred  along,  three  lengths  behind.  Bradford  looked 
back  once.  Lady  Mechante  smiled.  Over  the  Dam  and 
out  Jerome  Avenue  she  trailed  them,  then  leftward  into  Van 
Cortlandt  Park.  Here,  after  a  little  they  passed  the  lake, 
and  the  road  ran  up  and  down  hill  in  sinuous  curves.  Lady 
Mechante  dropped  a  rod  or  so  behind,  and  a  little  inverted 
"  V  "  was  printed  on  her  brow.  Like  this  :  A. 

At  the  top  of  a  long,  winding  slope  she  opened  her  throttle 
wide  for  a  quarter  of  a  minute,  then  jammed  it  back  and 
released  the  clutch.  The  machine  jumped  forward  like  an 
unhooded  falcon  and  sailed  after  the  Bradford  car,  as  silent 
as  the  wind.  Her  foot  was  steady  on  the  brake  as  she  drew 
At  ten  feet  distance  she  jammed  it  hard  enough  to 


near. 


check  her  momentum  a  little ;  then,  dodging  round  the 
steering-wheel  to  escape  the  shock  of  it,  she  sent  her  right 
mud-guard  into  the  tail  lamp  of  the  car  in  front.  The 
mud-guard  buckled,  and  her  forward  spring  crashed  into 
his  body.  Her  car  slewed  suddenlv  and  nearly  went  over. 

[  3°9] 


LADY   MECHANTE 


She  had  just  time  to  shriek  beautifully  and  fall  half  out  of 
the  car. 

It  was  a  great  success.  When  Bradford,  with  white 
cheeks,  reached  her  pink  ones,  her  eyes  were  shut,  one  arm 
hung  limp,  one  hand  clutched  her  heart.  The  chauffeur 
came  hurrying  up. 

Luckily  they  were  mere  men.  Had  Bradford's  sister 
been  there,  or  any  other  woman,  she  would  have  understood 
the  situation  perfectly.  Whether  the  accident  were  genu 
ine  or  not,  the  lady's  pose  was  theatrical.  Any  woman 
would  have  said  that,  for  the  audience,  nothing  could  have 
been  more  effective  than  the  tangle  of  hair  Lady  Mechante 
had  contrived  to  dislodge.  Her  display  of  hosiery,  consid 
ering  the  few  seconds  in  which  she  had  to  accomplish  it, 
was  nicely  calculated  between  revelation  and  suggestion. 
True,  she  was  not  quite  white  enough,  though  she  was  hold 
ing  her  breath  resolutely.  Her  eyelids  were  not  quite  inert, 
though  they  showed  her  lashes  to  good  advantage.  But  there 
was  no  fault  to  be  found  with  her  entrancing,  half-open 
mouth,  showing,  nestling  between  her  white  teeth,  her  little 
pointed  tongue.  It  takes  skill  to  stage-manage  such  a 
scheme,  to  be  shot  out  of  a  catapult,  so  to  speak,  and  fall 
into  a  graceful  tableau. 

Suffice  it  to  say  that  the  picture  was  not  lost  on  Wrest 
ling  Brewster  Bradford,  nor  even  on  his  chauffeur.  It  re 
ceived  a  moment's  hushed  pause  in  tribute  of  its  beauty 
before  even  horror  could  assert  itself.  Horror  did,  how 
ever,  with  several  "  My  Gods"  for  its  expression.  Then 
Bradford  and  his  man,  in  an  agony  of  fear  and  ignorance, 
raised  the  beauteous  victim  in  their  arms  and  laid  her  upon 
the  grass  beside  the  road.  As  they  were  too  timorous  to 
feel  of  her  to  ascertain  the  quality  of  her  injuries,  Lady 

[310] 


BLUE   BLOOD    AND    RED 


Mechante  paid  them  out  in  suspense,  and  the  two  wretched 
men,  knowing  they  ought  to  do  something  but  not  knowing 
what  to  do,  nor  how  to  do  it  if  they  had,  gazed  down  on 
her  as  at  a  wounded  butterfly.  Then  Bradford  dropped  on 
his  creased  knees  to  fan  her  with  his  cap,  and  his  mechani 
cian  was  despatched  for  water. 

Not  a  second  too  long,  not  a  second  too  short,  was  the 
time  Lady  Mechante  accorded  his  anguish.  Then  she  flut 
tered  her  eyelids,  quivered  her  lips,  and  looked  up  at  him  as 
a  babe  looks  up  for  milk.  Bradford's  relief  was  written  in 
his  face. 

"  Are  you  hurt  ?  "  he  demanded  huskily. 

She  noticed  with  delight  that  his  hand  trembled,  that  al 
ready  drops  of  sweat  had  gathered  on  his  forehead.  Perhaps 
that  was  why  she  smiled.  "  What  happened?"  she  in 
quired  faintly. 

"  You  ran  into  me.  I  think  your  brake  must  have  failed, 
or  something.  Do  see  if  you  're  hurt  anywhere,  please.  I 
hope  we  have  n't  broken  any  bones  !  I  'd  never  forgive 
myself." 

u  It  was  my  fault,"  she  murmured,  and  closed  her  eyes 
again. 

"  Won't  you  see  if  you  can't  get  up  ?  "  he  insisted  gently. 
"  It 's  terrible  to  see  you  lying  there  that  way." 

"  Is  it  ?  "     She  opened  her  eyes  and  smiled  mischievously. 

"Oh  —  I  did  n't  mean  that  !  You  're  so  beautiful,  in 
deed,  that  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  your  being  hurt.  Do  see 
if  you  can  rise." 

She  did  not  immediately,  for  she  had  not  yet  decided  just 
where  to  be  hurt.  Certainly  her  ankle  should  be  strained 
in  order  to  enlist  proper  physical  support,  but  she  must  not 
overdo  the  thing  or  make  her  injuries  too  specific,  on  ac- 

[3"  ] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


count  of  a  possible  doctor,  though  she  was  not  afraid  of 
doctors,  either.  So  she  first  let  loose  a  little  "  Oh!  "  as  she 
drew  up  her  knee.  Then  she  shook  a  white  hand  stiffly 
and  knotted  her  brows  into  a  frown.  Her  smile  came  heroic 
now,  as  she  played  the  Spartan. 

"  Oh,  it 's  nothing  at  all,  much.  I  expect  I  'm  all  right, 
but  I  'm  afraid  I  can't  drive  my  car  home.  By  the  way,  is 
there  anything  left  of  it  r  " 

Bradford  glanced  back  at  the  road. 

« I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "  It  looks  a  little  ragged,  but 
don't  worry.  I  '11  attend  to  it.  You  must  n't  think  of  going 
home  alone,  anyway.  I  '11  see  you  're  taken  care  of." 

"  It's  my  ankle,"  she  said  wearily,  and  she  made  a  wry 
little  mouth.  "  Now  if  you  '11  give  me  your  hand  I  '11  try 
to  get  up." 

He  drew  her  up  tenderly,  only  to  find  she  could  not  set 
the  right  foot  to  the  ground.  Coyly  she  looked  at  him  ; 
timidly  she  consented  to  put  her  arm  about  his  neck,  to 
have  him  put  his  arm  about  her  waist,  her  little  waist,  her 
little  oleander  waist.  Bradford  could  feel  her  tremble; 
indeed,  she  could  feel  him  tremble,  too.  She  knew  her  busi 
ness,  the  little  scamp,  this  pretty  liar.  Could  n't  she  man 
age  to  make  him  carry  her  ?  she  wondered.  She  might  have, 
had  not  the  chauffeur  come  back,  on  the  run,  with  a  canvas 
bucket  of  slopping  water  and  eyes  like  owls'.  Catching 
sight  of  the  interesting  composition  of  the  picture,  he  set 
down  the  bucket,  backed  off,  and  began  to  inspect  the 

machines. 

Bradford  and  his  charge  sat  down  again  on  the  bank. 
"  I  '11  be  all  right  in  a  minute,"  she  said.  "  Let  me  rest  a 
little."  That  minute  she  proposed  to  spend  in  studying 
the  young  man  she  had  trapped. 


BLUE   BLOOD   AND   RED 


He  had  a  head  like  Seneca  —  or  was  it  Erasmus  ? 
Rough-hewn,  yet  with  subtle  planes  —  a  head  any  portrait 
painter  would  tell  you  was  hard  to  draw,  and  prove  it. 
Cynicism  and  kindness  were  in  his  mouth,  but  mostly  cyni 
cism.  His  eyes  were  thinking  eyes- — -brook  hazel.  It 
.was  a  face  most  women  were  afraid  of,  but  not  so  Lady 
Mechante.  She  saw  the  difference  between  his  two  lips 
and  played  for  the  more  sensitive  and  sensuous  lower  one. 
Nor  was  she  afraid  of  the  cynicism.  New  York  had 
rubbed  off  on  him,  that  was  all ;  at  the  bottom  all  was 
Boston  enough  still.  Seven  generations  of  Mayflower 
stock  were  behind  him,  she  knew,  bred  in-and-in.  It  gave 
him  a  sharp  individuality.  His  hands,  she  noticed,  were 
square.  He  would  not  be  easily  fooled  ;  still,  it  was  lucky 
for  her  they  were  not  conic. 

"I'm  not  badly  hurt,"  she  said,  "except  that  my  ankle 
seems  to  be  twisted.  I  got  off  easy.  It 's  a  good  job  I 
did  n't  plough  right  through  you.  I  thought  I  was  going 
to.  Will  they  take  away  my  license  ?  "  She  looked  up 
at  him  with  a  fifteen-year-old  expression.  "Are  you  going 
to  sue  me  for  damages  ?  I  fancy  I  scratched  you  up  a 
bit." 

"  Oh,  don't  think  of  that.  I  think  your  car  got  rather 
the  worst  of  it."  He  called  to  his  chauffeur.  "  How  did 
they  stand  it  ?  " 

"Not  bad.  Crumpled  up  a  little  in  front  —  that's  all. 
If  I  hadn't  slowed  up  when  I  saw  her  coming,  it  would  n't 
have  amounted  to  anything  at  all."  He  turned  discreetly 
away. 

"  I  '11  give  you  my  name  in  case  you  want  to  have  me 
arrested.  You  'd  better  take  my  number  to  be  sure  I  'm 
not  fooling  you." 

[3-3] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


< 


< 


He  laughed  as  he  took  the  card  she  produced  from  a 
small  red  purse,  then  raised  his  eyebrows  as  he  read  the 
legend.  She  noticed  it  and  snatched  it  away  from  him. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  gave  you  the 
wrong  one.  I  'm  not  using  my  title  here  in  America." 
The  card  she  now  handed  him  bore  the  name  «  Mrs.  Nelly^ 

Hellysh." 

«  My  name  is  Bradford,"  he  remarked,  looking  at  her. 
"  Wrestling  Brewster  Bradford." 

"  Wrestling  ?       What  an  odd  name  !  " 

"  I  was  named  for  an  ancestor  of  mine.  It  was  origi 
nally  Wrestling-with-the-Lord-in-prayer  Brewster.  He  was 
the  son  of  the  original  Elder  Brewster,  the  Pilgrim,  you 

know." 

"  My  !  You  are  blue-blooded,  are  n't  you  ?  Fancy 
knowing  who  your  ancestors  were!  I  can't  remember 
further  back  than  my  grandfather,  and  he  was  only  an 
earl.  I  'm  quite  afraid  of  you  ! : 

"Oh,  ancestry  is  nothing;  it's  the  man  that  counts," 
said  Bradford,  modestly. 

She  sat  up  now  with  animation.  "But  '.  suppose 
you  're  all  sorts  of  things  besides,  are  n't  you  ?  Of  course 
you  belong  to  the  Scions  of  Shays'  Rebellion  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes." 

"  And  the  Descendants  of  the  Colonial  Skirmishes  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  and  many  others.      All  of  them,  in  fact." 

"To  think  I  dared  run  into  you  with  my  car!  Why, 
I  '11  be  colliding  with  the  President  of  the  United  States 
yet !  But  I  did  get  jolly  well  paid  out  for  it,  did  n't  I  ?  " 
She  caressed  her  silken  ankle  with  a  dismal  smile. 

"  You  must  let  me  take  you  home  now,  or  to  a  doctor's, 
before  it  grows  any  worse." 

[3'4l 


BLUE    BLOOD    AND    RED 


"  Well,  if  you  don't  mind.  I  'm  afraid,  really,  I  can't 
manage  that  clutch." 

He  called  to  his  chauffeur  to  help  him  support  her,  and 
they  lifted  her  into  the  seat.  A  few  explanations  as  to 
the  control  of  her  car,  and  he  started  off,  followed  by  the 
Hustler. 

On  the  way  back  he  gave  her  many  a  side  glance,  and 
usually  caught  her  looking  at  him.  When  Lady  Mechante 
looked  like  that,  something  had  to  ache  before  long.  The 
machine  was  too  new  to  him,  however,  for  him  to  give  her 
much  attention  or  much  talk,  and  she  subsided  into  silence 
as  well,  but  her  silence  was  quick  with  electricity.  He 
could  feel  her  when  he  did  not  see  her.  The  vibrations 
of  her  presence  kept  him  in  a  mild  excitement,  like  a  low 
fever  coursing  in  his  veins. 

With  his  chauffeur  he  assisted  her  into  the  Flatiron 
Building,  up  the  elevator  and  to  her  rooms  without  remark 
as  to  their  extraordinary  location.  Here  he  left  her,  with 
a  request  to  be  permitted  to  call  on  the  morrow  to  see  how 
she  had  fared. 

That  she  would  fare  well  enough  he  might  have  found 
out  if  he  could  have  seen  her  through  the  keyhole  after 
he  left.  She  walked  spryly  enough  then,  and  made  first 
for  the  mirror  to  estimate  the  impression  she  might  have 
made.  She  seemed  satisfied,  for  she  blew  a  kiss  at  her 
reflection  before  she  rang  for  her  maid. 

"  But  he  does  smell  of  ink,  though,"  she  said.  "  I  prefer 
coal  dust !  " 


Chapter  Jftoe 

A    SULPHITE    IN    DISGUISE 

Faith,  you  are  too  outrageous,  but  come  near! 

(Doctor  Faustus.) 

HE  immediate  result  of  the  tempest  in  the 
tea  party  where  Haulick  Smagg  had  taken 
his  initial  plunge  into  society  was  an  invi 
tation  to  call  on  upper  Fifth  Avenue  for 
Miss  Van  Dream's  "at  home."  It  was 
evident  that  she  had  found  him  amusing, 
and  she,  as  no  one  else  in  her  world,  could  afford  to 
patronize  him. 

Lady  Mechante  smiled  when  he  brought  her  the  news. 
It  was  evident  that  her  protege  was  to  be  a  success.  At 
the  story  of  his  atavism  she  had  been  a  little  fearful 
whether  he  might  not  overdo  the  part ;  and,  to  prevent  the 
recurrence  of  such  psychoses,  she  pledged  him  to  forswear 
such  vulgar  stimulants  as  might  reawaken  his  mind  to  his 
former  pursuits  of  pleasure.  Champagne,  she  had  already 
found,  he  could  be  safely  trusted  with.  It  merely  sent 
him  to  a  bizarre  heaven  where  he  communed  with  angels 
and  wore  strange  roj}es  of  light  and  glory.  Vintage  wines 
keyed  him  up  to  his  part,  and  liqueurs  maintained  his  faith 
in  the  fairy-tale  wherein  his  godmother  had  enchanted 
him.  But  whiskey  tore  the  magic  veil  asunder;  beer 
dashed  him  to  the  earth  with  a  thump. 


A   SULPHITE   IN  DISGUISE 


However,  if  Smagg  were  to  go  to  the  Van  Dreams', 
Lady  Mechante  must  go,  too.  She  was  by  no  means  the 
kind  of  practical  joker  who  sends  things  by  mail  and 
never  witnesses  the  effect.  No,  she  must  see  him  in  all 
his  glory  and  his  light ;  she  must  watch  her  Wooden  Horse 
make  his  entry  into  the  City  of  Solecisms,  and  watch  from 
inside.  As  Frankenstein  played  with  his  monster,  so  she 
would  play  with  hers.  True,  Frankenstein's  monster  had 
destroyed  him,  but  then  Frankenstein  had  been  a  German. 
There  was  nothing  German  about  Lady  Mechante ;  she 
came  from  the  dark  side  of  the  moon ;  her  blood  ran 
quicksilver. 

How,  then,  to  get  to  Dolly  Van  Dream's  ?  She  com 
muned  with  herself  in  the  glass.  Surely  they  would  not 
put  her  out.  She  would  simply  go,  and  be  done  with  it. 
She  had  seen  hostesses  before  disguise  their  lack  of  memory 
by  a  fulsome  welcome ;  she  had  done  it  herself  often 
enough  in  the  old  days  in  May  fair,  where  all  men  looked 
alike,  all  women  talked  alike,  and  none  was  wanted  any 
way.  Dolly  Van  Dream  would  without  doubt  pretend  to 
recognize  her  and  be  exuberant.  Trust  Lady  Mechante 
for  the  rest.  Besides,  the  Van  Dreams  had  been  in 
London  for  the  season  some  years  ago.  She  would  work 
Smagg  in,  too  —  then  turn  him  loose  and  dazzle  them. 

Haulick  Smagg,  his  two  hundred  dollars  still  unspent  — 
for  his  lady  paid  the  bills  —  had  come  back  and  back  for 
further  tutelage.  He  was  well  through  his  table  manners 
now.  He  could  blow  his  nose  lightly  and  almost  with 
charm,  saving  the  back  of  his  hand  for  other  uses.  His 
tread  was  less  rhinoceros-like.  She  had  him  into  corsets 
and  gave  him  a  genteel  figure.  His  profanity  was  pruned 
down  to  milder  expletives.  He  was  taught  to  say  nothing 


LADT   MECHANTE 


at  all  if  he  could  help  it,  save  sentences  from  her  phrase 
book.  To  teach  him  to  contemplate  ladies  in  decollete 
without  obvious  wonder  and  delight  was  harder.  In  short, 
some  of  Smagg's  corners  and  edges  had  already  been 
blunted,  and  he  moved  among  his  fellows  with  less  friction. 
From  being  totally  without  sight  in  the  life  social,  he  was 
now  only  purblind,  dimly  seeing  his  way,  though  still 
holding  her  hand. 

"•This  is  a  mere  game  of  follow-your-leader,"  she  said 
to  him.  "  You  must  watch  like  a  monkey  and  do  the  same 
as  they  do,  so  far  as  mere  habits  are  concerned.  After 
that,  you  must  do  everything  differently  ;  scorn  everything 
they  praise  and  praise  everything  they  scorn." 

He  did  not  quite  understand  it  yet,  but  the  game  pleased 
him.  Paupers  have  played  at  being  princes  before,  and 
Smagg,  as  the  Sleeper  Awakened,  rose  mightily  to  grasp  the 
situation.  He  was  avid  for  instruction.  She  tried  to  im 
press  upon  him  that  women  were  alike  in  her  world  as  in 
his,  but  it  took  some  time  for  him  to  believe  it.  When  she 
advised  him  to  be  familiar  with  old  ladies  and  serious  with 
young  girls,  to  be  risque  with  prudes  and  proper  with  an 
easier  sort,  he  gaped  at  her  and  wondered  that  such  things 
might  be.  But  he  had  the  goddess  Minerva  for  his  mentor 
and  she  could  not  err. 

From  her  cab  window  she  saw  him  enter  the  Fifth  Ave 
nue  chateau,  to  be  swallowed  up  by  French  Renaissance, 
p'ive  minutes  afterwards  she  was  at  the  same  portal,  which 
was  opened  by  the  same  striped  waistcoat.  She  breathed 
the  name  of  Hellysh  ;  the  butler  took  it  up  and  shot  it  into 
the  salon.  Dolly  Van  Dream  looked  up  with  a  puzzled 
expression  and  came  a  couple  of  steps  forward  with  a  set 


A    SULPHITE   IN  DISGUISE 


smile  and  an  outstretched  hand.  Her  greeting  was,  as  Lady 
Mechante  had  expected,  without  trace  of  embarrassment. 
She  even  kissed  both  of  Lady  Mechanic's  pink  cheeks.  She 
held  her  hand  long  and  affectionately,  reproaching  her  for 
not  having  come  before.  At  this  moment  Haulick  Smagg 
reinforced  them. 

u  My  dear  Lady  Mechante,  how  awfully  jolly  to  see  you 
again  !  I  had  no  idea  you  were  in  New  York  !  " 

Dolly's  glance  became  more  intelligent.  The  word 
u  Lady  "  rang  in  her  ears  with  a  pleasant  sound  ;  but  Lady 
Mechante  put  her  forefinger  to  her  lips  and  frowned  deli- 
ciously.  "  Oh,  don't  call  me  that  here,  Mr.  Smagg.  I  Ve 
dropped  my  title  since  I  came  to  America.  It's  too  per 
fectly  absurd  to  exploit  that  here  in  a  democracy.  Mrs. 
Hellysh,  please,  remember.  I  prefer  it,  really." 

Then  she  turned  to  Dolly.  "  It  seems  positively  years 
since  I  met  you,  my  dear.  Where  was  it  ?  At  Lord  Sud- 
denleigh's  ?  Or  was  it  at  that  very  naughty  place  in  Surrey  ? 
I  was  so  madly  in  love  that  I  don't  remember,  except  that 
I  believe  I  was  very  jealous  of  you.  You  '11  forgive  me, 
won't  you  ?  Well,  I  said  I  'd  come,  and  I  have  come,  and 
it 's  awfully  decent  of  you  to  want  me,  only  don't  breathe  a 
word  about  who  I  am,  if  you  don't  mind.  Just  let  me  be 
plain  Mrs.  Hellysh,  though  you  may  call  me  Nelly,  if  you 
like.  Now  I  hope  you  've  got  some  nice  men  here  and 
some  good  strong  tea.  I  '11  have  the  tea  first,  please."  And, 
as  she  walked  away,  she  whispered  to  Dolly  :  "  Isn't  Mr. 
Smagg  a  dear?  I'm  just  crazy  about  him.  You're  in 
great  luck  to  get  him.  He  does  n't  go  everywhere.  I  'm 
afraid  we  are  going  to  be  rivals  again."  And  she  was  off 
to  the  tea-table  after  a  quick  introduction  to  Mrs.  Van 
Dream.  She  towed  Haulick  Smagg  in  her  wake. 

[3-9] 


LADY   MECHANTE 


After  she  had  sipped  her  first  cup  of  tea  she  sent  him 
forth,  errant,  to  break  a  few  lances,  and  watched  him,  cat 
like,  from  her  corner.  Men  came  up  and  talked  and 
stayed,  and  stayed  and  talked.  Lady  Mechante,  rallying 
them,  volleying  them,  flattering  or  cajoling  them,  still  kept 
an  eye  and  an  ear  alert  for  Smagg. 

He  stood  with  both  hands  behind  his  back,  now,  deep  in 
conversation  with  a  jet-clad  dowager.  "  Opera  !  *'  His 
voice  was  deep  with  scorn.  u  It  's  the  most  ridiculous  and 
inane  exhibition  known  to  modern  civilization  !  It  's  noth 
ing  but  an  expensive  noise  made  by  fat  German  women  in 
thick  velvet  clothes." 

"You  don't  like  music,  then  ?  "   she  said  timidly. 

"  I  don't  like  damn  fools.  I  don't  want  my  music  to  come 
out  of  a  pasteboard  dragon  or  cloth  trees.  I  'm  too  fond  of 
music  to  like  opera."  Then  he  lowered  his  voice.  "Say, 
they  got  anything  to  drink  here  ?  " 

She  chuckled  amiably.  "  How  amusing  you  are,  Mr. 
Smagg  !  You  must  come  and  see  me.  Here  's  my  daugh 
ter.  Mr.  Smagg,  Emily.  Emily  's  wild  about  artists,  Mr. 
Smagg.  All  the  time  she  can  spare  from  bridge  and  golf 
and  dances  she  spends  down  at  Dolly  Van  Dream's  studio. 
Is  n't  it  wonderful,  Dolly's  energy  ?  I  don't  see  how  she 
ever  gets  up  in  time  to  paint  by  daylight." 

"  I  hear  you  are  a  great  art  critic  and  a  perfectly  tremen 
dous  sociologist,  Mr.  Smagg,"  said  Emily. 

"  I  try  to  strike  the  modern  note,"  was  his  grave   reply. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  something  awfully  wicked,"  said  Emily. 
"  Mamma,  you  go  along  and  have  some  tea  and  let  Mr. 
Smagg  tell  me  about  it.  I'm  sure  he's  going  to  be  too 
improper  for  you  to  listen  to." 

"  Now,"  she  continued,  when  -they  were  alone,  "  don't  be 

[320] 


A    SULPHITE   IN  DISGUISE 


afraid  of  shocking  me.  I  'm  not  afraid  of  the  modern  note. 
Only  we  girls  have  so  little  opportunity  of  getting  the  expe 
rience  a  man  has.  Do  tell  me  something  exciting  !  I  'd 
love  it." 

Smagg  considered  a  while.  Then  he  said  slowly,  "  Well, 
there  was  once  a  fox  — 

She  gave  a  little  exclamation.  "  Oh,  you  're  going  to  be 
just  clever  !  I  did  n't  want  tbat^  at  all.  I  hoped  you  'd  be 
naughty  !  " 

He  looked  down  at  her  and  perceived  that  she  was  young 
and  slim  and  pretty.  His  blood  stirred  in  him.  "You've 
got  awfully  small  hands,"  he  said.  "Let 's  see  'em." 

She  held  out  her  little  hand,  and  he  grabbed  it,  squeezing 
it  till  her  rings  cut  into  her  fingers  and  the  tears  started  to 
her  eyes.  Then  he  let  it  go,  satisfied. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Smagg,"  she  faltered,  "there's  something  so 
awfully  big  and  strong  about  you  !  I  can't  tell  you  how  I 
admire  you.  I  think  you  understand  me."  And  she  cast 
down  her  eyes  in  confusion. 

Just  then  he  caught  Lady  Mechanic's  amused  glance. 
"  Oh,  women  understand  each  other,  but  they  never  under 
stand  themselves,"  he  stammered.  "  Did  I  hurt  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course  you  did.  You're  the  only  man  I  ever  met 
who  ever  dared  to.  It  was  wonderful !  Why,  the  men  in 
my  set  would  no  more  dare  to  strike  a  woman  than  they 
would  ride  a  bicycle  up  Fifth  Avenue  !  I  really  think  you 
would  really  dare  to  be  rude.  Please  do  ;  I  'd  adore  it  ! 
You  are  so  different,  and  everything.  I  don't  see  how  you 
can  do  it  and  still  not  wear  funny  collars,  or  anything." 

"You  never  can  tell  what  you  can  do  till  you  stop  try 
ing,"  he  said,  and  wondered  to  see  her  giggle.  He  said  it 
with  just  the  proper  amount  of  distracted  attention,  because 

«  [  321  ] 


LADY   MECHANTE 


his  eyes  had  become  fascinated  by  a  glittering  diamond  pin 
at  Emily's  throat.  But,  perceiving  that  he  had  pleased,  he 
ventured  to  reach  forth  his  hand  and  say  : 

u  Gimme  that  thing,  will  you  ?      I  want  it." 

"You  adorable  man!"  Emily  unfastened  the  pin  and 
handed  it  to  him.  After  he  had  looked  at  it  for  a  minute, 
he  dropped  it  into  the  tail  pocket  of  his  coat,  turned  sud 
denly  away,  and  left  her  staring. 

A  lady  seated  in  a  gold  chair  interfering  with  his  progress 
through  the  room,  he  put  his  foot  on  the  rung  of  the  chair 
and  shoved  it,  with  its  occupant,  out  of  his  way.  He  el 
bowed  between  two  black  coats,  trod  across  several  lacy 
trains,  and  took  Lady  Mechante  by  the  arm.  She  pinched 
him  well  for  it. 

"  Do  I  do  it  all  right  ?  "  he  asked.  "  It  seems  to  go 
slick  enough." 

"  Oh,  you  '11  never  get  on  this  way,"  she  said.  "  You 
are  too  smooth,  altogether.  You  've  got  to  bully  them  if 
you  want  to  make  a  success.  It  looks  as  if  you  were  just 
trying  to  be  agreeable.  Remember  what  I  told  you.  You 
have  to  go  either  saddled  and  bridled  or  booted  and  spurred. 
Drive  them,  Incubus,  drive  them  !  Make  them  afraid  of 
you  !  Shoot  a  little  fire  or  I  '11  perish  of  ennui.  Do  you 
think  I  took  the  trouble  to  come  here  to  see  you  tamed  ? 
Make  them  jump  through  the  hoop;  crack  your  whip! 
Bark,  ringmaster." 

She  turned  to  her  neighbor.  "  Why,  of  course.  It 's 
absurd  to  say  that  society  in  America  is  not  so  refined  and 
well  bred  and  well  organized  as  it  is  abroad.  I  don't  see 
any  difference.  You  say  the  same  things  as  we  do,  whatever 
you  think.  You  worship  the  inconspicuous  and  the  un 
original.  Why,  look  at  this  delightful  Mr.  Smagg.  Of 

[3"] 


A  SULPHITE    IN   DISGUISE 


course  he  's  an  intellectual  type,  a  sociologist,  a  critic,  a  con 
noisseur,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  He  has  all  the  modern 
point  of  view  as  a  thorough  man  of  the  world,  but  he  is  a 
gentleman  through  and  through,  such  as  you  might  find  in 
the  highest  circles  of  English  Society.  In  point  of  fact,  I 
did  find  him  there,  at  the  Bishop  of  Shoreditch's,  and  he 
was  hand  in  glove  with  the  Duke  of  Billingsgate  and  all  that 
set.  He  has  even  played  bridge  with  W.  B.  See  how 
well  he  fits  in  here  !  Does  n't  it  prove  my  point  ?  " 

Since  her  arrival  .Lady  Mechanic's  name  had  buzzed 
from  corner  to  corner  about  the  room.  There  was  already 
a  press  of  men  encompassing  her,  and  ladies  waited  to  be 
introduced.  It  was  not  so  surprising,  for  Dolly  Van  Dream 
led  her  circle  and  had  produced  queen  bees  before  able  to 
set  the  hive  swarming.  So  Lady  Mcchante's  apologia  was 
passed  about  as  well.  Haulick  Smagg  on  Dolly  Van 
Dream's  acceptance  was  accepted,  and  on  Lady  Mechanic's 
praise  was  praised.  With  the  lash  she  gave  him  he  went 
back  into  the  ring,  stimulated  to  find  his  work  so  easy. 

He  could  not  see  what  they  were  all  doing  there,  any 
way,  merely  standing  about  and  talking,  without  drink  or 
diversion.  It  was  all  nonsense,  any  way  you  looked  at  it. 
How  could  one  be  a  bigger  fool  than  another  ?  What  the 
hell  was  there  to  be  afraid  of?  He  had  seen  crowds  on 
election  night,  crowds  at  Coney  Island,  crowds  going  or 
coming.  But  this  was  a  different  sort.  It  seemed  to  have 
no  object  ;  he  wondered  how  anyone  would  know  when 
to  go  home.  The  women  were  pretty  enough,  but  they 
hung  back  so,  curse  them  !  They  seemed  half  asleep. 
They  began  to  inspire  him  with  a  dull  resentment.  He 
did  not  know  yet  that  he  was  beginning  to  be  bored. 
Afraid  of  them  ?  He  had  money  now  and  was  afraid  of 


LADT   M EC H ANTE 


nothing.  His  first  hundred  dollars  had  given  him  the  will 
to  kick  an  elevator  starter  down  the  hall.  His  second  had 
made  him  give  his  orders  to  Dolly  Van  Dream  herself. 
Lady  Mechanic  ?  She  was  another  breed  altogether,  a 
thoroughbred,  a  prize  winner,  far  out  of  his  reach.  There 
was  a  lady  if  you  like  !  As  distant  as  a  rainbow,  yet  as 
beautifully  near. 

Still,  though  he  was  not  cowed,  he  was  dazed.  Lady 
Mechanic's  advice  had  greased  his  way  so  far ;  he  would 
try  it  again.  What  did  it  all  mailer  ?  He  had  nothing  lo 
lose.  If  worst  came  lo  worst,  he  still  had  his  two  hundred 
dollars,  and  he  could  make  it  all  up  in  such  a  drunk  as 
would  get  in  the  papers.  Why,  they  were  all  afraid  of  /;/;«, 
for  all  he  knew.  He  decided  to  see  if  they  were  n't. 

He  had  started  across  ihe  room,  he  had  reached  Dolly 
Van  Dream  and  opened  his  mouth  to  speak  to  her,  when 
of  a  sudden  all  the  electric  lights  went  out.  The  salon 
was  as  black  as  midnight  in  a  tunnel.  There  was  a  startled 
murmur  of  exclamations  all  over  the  room,  and  a  nervous 
laugh  ran  around.  Men  and  women  jostled  each  other 
and  giggled ;  voices  rose  calling  for  lights ;  a  match  was 
struck  here  and  there,  showing  up  half-scared,  half-amused 
faces. 

The  effccl  on  Haulick  Smagg  was  instantaneous  ;  he 
became  a  cave  man  ;  his  costume  was  forgotten  ;  forgollen 
was  the  newness  of  the  scene,  the  unwonted  glitter,  the 
display  of  ladies'  shoulders,  the  luxurious  environment,  ihe 
slones  and  silks,  ihe  calm,  myslerious  order  of  ihe  place. 
The  darkness  made  il  a  cavern.  In  a  momenl  he  was 
himself  again,  a  primitive  man.  His  glance  had  faslened 
on  Dolly0  Van  Dream  as  the  light  went  oul.  He  pul 
oul  his  hand  wilh  surety  ;  he  seized  her,  closed  his  arm 


A    SULPHITE    IN  DISGUISE 


about  her  neck,  and  drew  her  face  to  his.  His  grasp  was 
like  an  orang-outang's,  so  fierce  and  rapid  that  his  embrace 
strangled  her  sudden  cry  of  fear.  Then  a  light  came  travel 
ing  in  through  the  door,  a  flame  on  a  taper.  He  released 
her  like  an  animal  afraid  of  fire,  and  when  the  gas  was 
turned  on  he  wondered  at  his  temerity. 

But  more  he  wondered  at  the  effect  on  Dolly  Van 
Dream. 

"How  dare  you  ?  Really,  you  mustn't  do  such  things 
here.  Why,  what  if  anyone  saw  you  ?  "  But  there  was 
no  reproach  in  her  eyes  ;  only  embarrassment,  and  perhaps 
even  admiration. 

So  he  had  made  his  love  in  the  underworld,  and  so  he  had 
been  received.  It  gave  him  a  strange  sense  of  exultation. 
It  was  the  victory  and  not  the  kiss  that  went  to  his  head. 
Lady  Mechante's  words  of  advice  came  to  him.  In  order  to 
get  acquainted  with  a  woman,  a  secret  shared  with  her  was 
the  first  requisite.  Was  this  a  secret  he  had  with  Dolly 
Van  Dream  ?  Perhaps,  with  their  strange  manners,  a  kiss 
was  a  thing  to  be  denied  or  hidden.  Perhaps  ladies  did  not 
kiss  men.  He  had  not  seen  any  kissing  done  since  his  entry 
into  society.  Lady  Mechante  had  told  him,  too,  that  these 
women  were  no  different  from  those  he  had  known.  Well, 
he  would  find  out. 

By  the  time  the  excitement  had  lulled  and  the  lights  had 
come  on  again,  there  was  a  movement  toward  the  supper 
room.  Lady  Mechante  shook  off  her  suitors  and  captured 
her  charge.  She  had  spent  her  time  well  in  the  corner 
with  her  heiresses  and  tame  young  men.  By  this  time  she 
had  found  out  about  several  of  the  guests  and  had  marked 
them  for  the  massacre.  As  they  threaded  the  throng  she 
filled  Smagg's  ears  with  information ;  as  they  sat  in  the 

[325] 


LADY  MECHANTE 


supper-room   she   coached    him   between    lively  remarks  to 
right  and  left  as  to  the  personalities  present. 

There  was  old  Huggins,  for  instance,  the  president  of 
the  Peanut  Trust,  whose  nefarious  operations  had  forced 
up  prices  till  there  was  scarce  sustenance  in  a  quart.  The 
poor  cursed  him  nightly  on  the  Elevated  and  in  the  public 
parks,  yet  he  was  received  in  this  company  of  the  elect  as 
without  smirch.  The  Peanut  Trust  was  already  indicted, 
but  it  was  the  miserable  hucksters  and  sidewalk  vendors 
who  were  suffering,  while  Huggins  raced  in  two-thousand- 
ton  yachts. 

Over  against  them  was  a  member  of  the  Committee  of 
Fifty,  already  sold  out  to  the  Prohibition  Party,  as  every 
one  present  knew.  In  the  corner  was  Theodore  Glush,  a 
manufacturer  of  flypaper  so  notoriously  adulterated  and  be- 
drugged  that  he  had  twice  been  arrested  by  the  Society  for 
the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals.  He  had  made  his 
millions  in  flies,  and  was  said  to  breed  them  at  a  marshy 
stock  farm  in  New  Jersey  to  boom  the  sale  of  his  product. 

There  was  an  P^piscopal  bishop  who  was  known  to  have 
put  musical  comedies  on  the  stage  in  order  to  cure  audi 
ences  of  going  to  the  theater.  Why,  at  their  very  side, 
was  young  McSmick,  who  had  shot  a  tailor  for  attempting 
to  collect  his  bill,  and  who  had  been  acquitted  on  a  defense 
of  the  Unwritten  Law.  Not  to  speak  of  John  Rock 
well,  Jr.,  a  millionaire  Sunday-school  superintendent  who 
had  been  found  guilty  of  sending  obscene  matter  through 
the  mails.  True,  the  evidence  of  the  crime  was  but  a  post 
card  bearing  a  verse  from  the  Bible  ;  but,  as  the  law  requires 
a  jury  to  convict  if  the  probable  effect  upon  a  purely  hypo 
thetical  person  would  be  evil,  the  authorship  of  the  text  did 
not  prevent  the  Sunday-school  teacher's  sentence.  These 


A   SULPHITE   IN  DISGUISE 


and  many  other  monsters  she  showed  him  ;  the  starched 
shirts  covered  a  multitude  of  sinners.  But  since  they 
had  sinned  so  far  successfully,  they  were  still  received. 

"  Gawd,  what  a  rotten  lot  !  "  said  Smagg.  "  Why,  down 
our  way  when  they  find  a  lump  of  stone  in  the  coal,  they 
heave  it  at  the  driver.  I  seen  a  barkeeper  once  who  put 
soap  in  the  beer  to  make  it  lather  ;  he  did  n't  live  long. 
Let 's  go  over  and  punch  some  of  their  faces.  Me  for 
Glush  !  Gawd  !  We  got  flies  at  home  so  thick  you 
can't  tell  custard  pie  from  huckleberry." 

"  Oh,  the  women  are  just  as  good  !  "  said  Lady  Mechante. 
" There's  one  over  there  now,  the  one  with  the  feather 
duster  in  her  hair  and  the  gold  harness  round  her  neck. 
She  sold  her  daughter  for  three  millions  to  an  ex-bootblack 
called  Prince  Gondola.  There 's  another  one  who  has 
married  thirteen  men  in  fourteen  years.  She  has  got  a 
Senator  now ;  she  may  work  up  to  a  coal-heaver  in 
time." 

"Not  me!"  said  Smagg.  "  When  I  marry  a  woman 
I  want  a  new  one.  But  what  do  they  all  do  ?  " 

"  Oh,  things  like  this,  and  bridge  and  golf  and  dances." 

"  Don't  they  ever  have  any  fun  ?  " 

"  Oh,  they  go  to  the  theater  and  the  Opera." 

Smagg  grunted.  "  I  've  heard  what  Opera  's  like.  Not 
for  mine  !  They  all  have  automobiles,  though,  same  as 
you  do." 

"There's  not  a  man  in  the  room  can  run  one,"  said 
Lady  Mechante,  "  and  airships  are  n't  for  sale  yet.  Oh, 
they  have  a  very  good  time  playing  about." 

"I  don't  see  where  it  comes  in,  if  it's  like  this. 
Damned  if  I  know  why  they  come  here  and  stand  around 
on  their  hind  legs." 


LADY  MECHANTE 


"  Hush  !  They  have  to  !  "  Lady  Mechanic  shot  a 
keen  glance  at  him. 

"  Have  to  ?  Ain't  they  got  money  ?  Why  don't  they 
spend  it  ?  " 

"  It 's  spending  them." 

Smagg  looked  puzzled.  "  I  ain't  on  to  this  game,"  he 
said.  "  There  must  be  something  in  it  or  they  would  n't 
do  it." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Lady  Mechanic.  "  You  chew  on  that  for  a 
while." 

He  had  finished  his  salad  and  his  lobster,  and  had  thrust 
a  plate  of  ice  cream  away  from  him  so  violently  that  it  had 
dropped  from  the  waiter's  hands.  As  usual,  but  now  with 
a  detached,  distrait  manner,  he  had  stamped  upon  the 
broken  plate.  The  Extra  Dry  had  mounted  to  his  brain 
and  set  it  in  motion.  It  lifted  him  to  equality,  even  to 
superiority,  and  it  gave  to  Lady  Mechanic's  words  wings. 

As  his  lady  was  now  again  encompassed  by  her  admirers, 
he  set  forth  for  new  flights,  inspired  by  her  parting  precept 
to  specialize  on  the  old  ladies.  The  champagne  gave  him 
charm ;  it  freed  him  somewhat  from  the  constraint  of  the 
place,  and  his  native  character  came  out  more  and  more. 
It  has  been  remarked  that  Haulick  Smagg  was  not  ill- 
favored  ;  it  would  be  too  much  to  claim  for  him  graceful 
ness,  but  he  did  have  strength,  almost  power,  and  his 
courage  waxed  stronger  and  stronger  with  his  scorn. 

His  eyes  singled  out  Mrs.  Van  Dream,  and  he  forced 
his  way  to  her  through  the  press.  She  made  a  seat  for  him 
beside  her.  She  was  solidly  built,  plump  and  round  and 
smooth,  with  a  sensationally  low  cut  corsage  sewn  with 
sequins.  From  her  shoulders  to  her  lowest  chin  there  was 
scarce  room  for  a  neck,  but  what  there  was  was  white  and 

[328] 


A  SULPHITE    IN  DISGUISE 


fat.  Her  lips  were  suspiciously  red,  her  eyebrows  suspi 
ciously  black,  and  even  her  ears  were  made  up.  A  tiara, 
exploding  with  diamonds,  adorned  her  too-black  hair. 

"Well,  Mr.  Smagg,  you're  not  often  so  frivolous  as 
this,  are  you  ?  I  suppose  sociology  occupies  most  of  your 
time,  does  n't  it  ?  It 's  good  of  you  to  let  us  have  you  a 
little  while." 

He  clasped  his  knees  with  his  great  white-gloved  hands 
and  thrust  out  his  great  feet.  "  Oh,  I  got  to  take  the  bad 
with  the  good  in  my  business." 

She  raised  her  lorgnon  to  look  at  him,  but  it  did  not 
frighten  him.  "My  daughter  tells  me  you're  so  terribly 
learned.  Positively,'  I  'm  afraid  of  you,  Professor." 

"  Gawd  !  I  can  remember  when  I  used  to  be  afraid  of 
V<?«,  too  —  when  I  was  shoveling  coal  into  your  cellar. 
I  've  seen  you,  many  's  a  time,  all  baled  up  in  furs  with  a 
couple  of  them  little  snipes  with  tall  hats  and  tight  pants 
waiting  for  you  on  the  sidewalk.  Huh  !  I  did  n't  think 
I  'd  ever  see  the  inside  of  this  house." 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  '11  see  it  often  again.  I  think  you  're 
most  amusing.  It 's  good  to  see  a  new  face  occasionally. 
I  know  the  history  of  everyone  here  by  heart." 

"  It  would  n't  bear  bein'  printed,  from  what  /  hear." 

"  My  dear  man,  of  course  not,  but  what 's  the  good  of 
having  money  if  we  can't  keep  things  out  of  the  papers  ? 
In  time  I  hope  we  can  own  all  the  papers  in  our  set,  and 
then  we  can  do  quite  as  we  please,  as  they  do  in  England 
now." 

"  Have  you  got  much  money  ?  "  Mr.  Smagg  inquired. 

She  chuckled.  "  I  wish  I  had  enough  to  pay  you  to 
come  oftener.  You  're  delightful."  She  reached  over  and 
tapped  him  on  the  arm. 

[329] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


He  grabbed  her  fat  hand  and  shook  it  cordially.  "  Say, 
you  're  all  right,  old  girl,  if  you  did  n't  put  so  much  flour  on 
your  face.  You  don't  need  it,  and  it  don't  fool  anybody." 

She  gasped  delightedly.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Smagg,  you  're 
simply  terrible  !  " 

He  was  staring  at  her  point  blank.  "  I  knew  a  girl 
what  had  eyes  like  yours,"  he  remarked,  "  and  she  was  a 
devil,  too." 

Old  lady  Van  Dream  bridled  and  was  coy.  "  Well," 
she  sighed,  "there  was  a  time  — 

"  I  '11  bet  you  're  good  for  it  yet !  "  He  slapped  her  on 
the  knee. 

"  Flatterer  !  " 

"  I  like  a  woman  with  a  temper,  myself.  Now  you  'd 
give  a  man  a  run  for  his  money,  I  '11  bet !  "  He  leaned 
nearer  and  smiled  full  in  her  face.  "  Say,  men  are  crazy 
about  you,  ain't  they  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  won't  say  that  —  but  of  course  if  you  had  seen 
me  when  I  was  younger  — 

"Younger  !  Why,  you  got  a  good  forty  years  yet  to  eat 
men  up  in.  Wash  off  some  of  that  paint  and  you'll  be 
young  enough  !  What 's  them  rings  worth,  about  ?  "  He 
took  up  her  hand  casually  and  pulled  off  a  marquise. 

u  Oh,  some  thousands  perhaps;  why?"  She  had 
stopped  looking  about  to  see  if  anyone  were  listening. 

"I  suppose  a  different  man  give  you  each  one  of  them, 
did  n't  they  ?  You  must  be  a  whirlwind,  from  what  I 
hear.  They  say  the  girls  in  your  crowd  ain't  in  it  with 
you.  I  don't  wonder.  I  don't  mind  weight,  myself;  I 
like  something  I  can  feel  when  I  pick  up — good  and 
husky  like  you  —  a  good  eater  and  all  that." 

Mrs.   Van   Dream   invited   him   to   dinner  on  the  spot. 

[330] 


A  SULPHITE    IN  DISGUISE 


Mr.   Smagg   said   airily    that    he    did  n't    know   whether    he 
could   come  or  not,  but   he  'd   see  about   it. 

He  left  her  to  wander,  hands  in  pockets,  to  other  be- 
diamonded  matrons,  and  wherever  he  saw  a  gray  hair  or  a 
too  blonde  one  he  continued  his  impertinences.  He  spared 
neither  the  widow  nor  the  divorcee.  His  eyes  were  auda 
cious  ;  his  lips  were  free  with  compliment  and  with  criti 
cism.  Instinctively  he  adopted  the  only  safe  way  to  win 
a  woman's  interest  —  by  making  the  conversation  personal 
from  the  first. 

With  the  men  he  fairly  swaggered. 

The  bishop  he  accused  of  being  a  Jesuit  in  justifying  his 
means  to  his  end.  He  called  old  Huggins  to  his  face  one 
of  the  Predatory  Rich,  and  waxed  eloquent  over  the  wrongs 
done  holiday  makers. 

"  Corporations  have  no  souls,"  he  stormed,  "  except  the 
soles  of  their  boots  to  stomp  on  the  poor  with.  You  '11  be 
making  customers  return  their  peanut  shells  next,  for  you 
to  grind  up  to  make  hardwood  floors  of.  Then  you  '11 
< :  nt  the  skins  of 'em  for  red  firecrackers,  to  compete  with 
Cninese  pauper  labor.  Peanuts '11  be  a  cent  apiece  before 
you  get  through  with  us,  and  only  the  rich  can  afford  to 
eat  'em.  They  're  getting  littler  every  Saturday.  They 
was  eighty-one  to  the  pint  last  week,  and  it  ain't  one  in  ten 
is  a  double  one,  nowadays.  You  '11  bring  on  a  riot  if  you 
don't  look  out,  you  plutocrats.  The  common  people  won't 
stand  it  much  longer.  If  you  take  away  the  poor  man's 
peanut,  you  '11  take  away  the  poor  man's  pie,  and  then 
there 's  going  to  be  trouble." 

Then  he  turned  on  Glush.  "  I  've  known  mean  men  in 
my  day.  I  've  known  automobile  tire  manufacturers  who 
had  tack  works  on  the  side,  and  sprinkled  the  streets  with 


LADY   MECHANTE 


them  out  of  special  carts.  I  've  know  phonograph  men 
who  worked  in  advertising  features  in  the  middle  of  Ca 
ruso's  songs  ;  but  a  man  who  '11  dope  the  food  of  a  dying 
fly  ought  to  be  prosecuted  under  the  Pure  Food  Law." 

And  lastly,  to  McSmick  :  "  If  there  's  many  more  like 
you  gets  off,  there  '11  be  a  law  passed  to  make  every  tailor 
sew  a  cloth  receipt  into  the  seat  of  every  pair  of  pants  he 
makes  before  he  sends  them  out.  How  '11  we  look  then 
walking  up  Broadway  ?  "  he  demanded  savagely. 

So  he  bullied  the  men  and  cajoled  the  women,  while 
Lady  Mechante  followed  him  about  with  her  eyes  and  ears 
and  Greek-chorused  his  epic  progress  toward  popularity. 
The  net  result  was  six  invitations  to  dinner,  five  lunches 
down-town,  unnumbered  requests  to  call,  a  few  bids  for 
week-end  parties,  and  an  ingenuous  declaration,  in  the 
corner  of  the  music  room,  from  little  Emily. 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  should  n't  tell  you  that  I  love  you, 
Mr.  Smagg.  The  girls  in  my  set  believe  in  frankness. 
We're  terribly  modern.  So,  if  it's  true,  why  shouldn't  I 
say  so  ?  It  is  true."  She  looked  up  at  him  with  melting 
eyes.  "  I  suppose  perhaps  I  ought  to  wait  until  I  'm  sure 
you  love  me,  but  perhaps  you  never  will  love  me,  or  if  you 
do  you  '11  forget  to  say  so.  Men  are  so  terribly  thoughtless 
about  such  things.  But  surely  there  is  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of,  is  there,  in  honest  affection  ?  I  believe  things 
would  be  much  easier  if  men  and  woman  were  perfectly 
simple  with  each  other  and  said  what  they  really  thought. 
I  would  only  be  acting  a  lie  if  I  kept  this  from  you. 

"  I  want  to  be  perfectly  straightforward.  I  respect  you 
too  much,  Mr.  Smagg,  not  to  give  you  my  whole  confidence. 
I  want  to  be  honorable,  as  men  are  honorable.  Women 
have  been  accused  of  deceit  so  long  that  I  think  every  really 

[332] 


SULPHITE   IN  DISGUISE 


honest  and  noble-hearted  girl  ought  to  take  a  stand  in  the 
matter.  She  ought  to  be  on  the  right  side  and  make  no 
pretenses  about  her  emotions.  You  move  me  ;  you  trouble 
me  ;  I  can't  take  my  eyes  off  you  !  You  're  handsome  and 
strong  and  fine.  I  think  you  are  kind  too.  Somehow,  I 
can't  bear  not  to  have  you  know  it.  It  seems  like  doing 
you  a  wrong  to  conceal  it.  I  can't  help  feeling  as  I  do, 
can  I  ?  It 's  all  a  question  of  electricity,  magnetism, 
chemistry.  I  'm  not  responsible,  and  I  don't  want  to  be 
held  responsible.  All  I  do  want  is  to  be  able  to  tell  you 
outright  that  I  'm  wildly  in  love  with  you,  I  'm  crazy  about 
you.  I  don't  really  think  I  can  live  without  you  —  but 
that 's  a  different  thing,  for  I  don't  want  to  give  you  any 
trouble  at  all.  I  don't  expect  anything  ;  I  don't  want  any 
thing —  only  to  be  permitted  to  adore  you.  I  know  I  can 
trust  you.  I  know  you  are  worthy  of  my  honesty.  It's 
simply  fate,  that 's  all ;  fate  has  thrown  us  together  and  I 
must  cling  to  you.  You  need  n't  mind  it  at  all,  Haulick— 
I  don't  want  to  marry  you  !  That  would  be  too  much,  but 
I  must  be  true  to  myself.  I  may  not  be  true  to  you,  Hau 
lick,  but  I  shall  always  be  true  to  myself.  There  !  Do 
you  hate  me  ?  Do  you  think  I  'm  a  bold,  immodest  thing, 
just  because  I  've  shown  you  my  naked  soul  ?  " 

He  had  been  chewing  steadily  at  a  toothpick  .the  while, 
his  eyes  watching  idly  the  couples  barn-dancing  in  the  ball 
room.  Now  he  spat  it  out  and  turned  to  the  little  temper 
amental,  passion-swept,  hungry-eyed  figure  beside  him. 
"  Oh,  that 's  all  right,"  he  said.  "  I  guess  I  '11  go  out  and 
have  a  smoke." 

He  left  her  and  walked  out  of  the  room  without  exactly 
understanding  what  had  happened. 

[333] 


Chapter 

THE   BEST   BEST   SELLER 

I9  II  fit  kirn  aptly:  either  PH  awake 
His  wits  (if  be  have  any}  or  force  him 

To  appear  (as  yet  I  cannot  think  him) 

Without  any. 

(Wit  at  Several  Weapons.) 

RESTLING  BREWSTER  BRADFORD 

had  called  at  the   Flatiron   Building  once, 
twice,  thrice ;  the  result  being  that,  at  the 
third   call,   he  had   produced   and   read   the 
manuscript  of  a  singularly  keen  and  subtle 
piece    of    symbolistic    fiction,    done    with 
masterly  style.     Lady  Mechante  positively  thrilled  under  it. 
"  Is  n't  that   rotten  ?  "  he  asked.      u  It   is   positively  the 
nearest  I  can  come  to  it."      He  looked  at  her  hopelessly. 

"  Why,  it  's  superb  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  You  've  actu 
ally  got  it  !  It  's  life  !  " 

"  It 's  death  for  me,"  he  said.  "  That 's  the  sort  of  stuff 
I  am  doomed  to  write." 

"  I  'd  be  glad  to  be  able  to  do  it." 

"  It  's  as  easy  as  talking.  I  can  do  it  by  the  week  at  a 
stretch.  What  good  does  it  do  ?  I  can't  possibly  sell  it 
to  anything  except  the  North  American  Monthly  or  the 
Atlantic  Review.  I  '11  get  fourteen  dollars  for  it  and  nobody 
will  ever  see  it  except  educated  people.  Nobody  but  men  and 
a  few  school-teachers.  Why  can't  I  write  anything  that's  fit 
for  women,  and  for  Mimsey's?"  His  look  was  pathetic. 

[334] 


THE    BEST  BEST  SELLER 


"  Do  you  like  Mlmseys  ? ':  she  asked,  raising  her 
eyebrows. 

"  Like  it  ?  Why,  I  adore  it,  and  that  's  no  mere  figure 
of  speech.  Why,  people  read  that  magazine  ;  they  don't 
leave  it  on  the  lower  shelf  of  the  library  table,  or  send  it  to 
the  lighthouse  men.  They  gloat  ;  they  devour.  Jf^omen 
read  it,  and  it 's  women  who  make  fame  and  fortune  for 
writers.  God !  If  I  could  ever  take  up  that  magazine, 
with  its  picture  of  a  slim,  anemic  female  on  the  cover,  with 
the  blub  underneath  :  c  I  consider  this  number  of  my  magazine 
about  the  hottest  piece  of  pie  that  was  ever  shoved  over  the  counter. 
It  has  snap  and  go  and  pepper  and  brains  in  it.  Read  it,  and 
see  if  I  haven  t  got  Kipling  locked  into  the  coal  cellar  ringing 
up  Information  '  -  —  if  I  could  find  a  story  of  mine  under 
neath  that  cover  I  'd  know  I  'd  made  good  !  "  He  strode 
up  and  down  the  room  in  his  excitement. 

"  Still,  there  are  n't  many  who  can  turn  out  the  sort  of 
fiction  that  you  are  capable  of.  Why,  it 's  equal  to  George 
Meredith,  it  seems  to  me.  You  have  the  true  literary 
instinct." 

"  That 's  just  the  trouble.  I  don't  want  the  true  literary 
instinct.  I  want  to  write  one  of  the  Six  Best  Sellers.  I 
want  to  appear  in  that  immortal  list  of  names  for  at  least 
one  month,  in  at  least  one  town." 

"  I  suppose  you  would  get  more  royalties,"  said  Lady 
Mechante,  leading  him  on. 

"  Royalties  be  hanged  !  I  'd  get  more  fame,  hot  off  the 
saucepan,  made  while  you  wait.  I  want  to  be  able  to  go 
into  the  public  library  at  East  Bend,  Iowa,  and  take  down 
my  novel  off  the  shelf  and  find  it  read  to  a  frazzle  —  worn 
and  torn  and  sticky  with  chewing-gum,  half  the  leaves 
gone,  the  covers  loose  —  and  scrawled  across  the  title  page, 

[335  1 


LADY   MECHANTE 


This    is    a    good    book  !  '      That 's    the    test    of   literary 


success. 


"  But  you  must  get  good  reviews,"  said  Lady  Mechante. 
"  That  ought  to  console  you  some." 

"  Reviewers  !  They  're  all  prostituted  to  the  advertising 
department  in  the  papers.  There  's  no  such  thing  left  as 
literary  criticism.  Why,  I  know  a  girl  on  the  Boston  Ledger 
who  is  a  friend  of  the  literary  editor.  She  takes  home  six 
volumes  a  week.  Two  she  reads  herself;  she  gives  one 
to  her  grandmother,  one  to  her  mother,  one  to  her  little 
sister,  and  one  to  the  Irish  cook.  They  tell  her  what  they 
think  about  them,  and  she  writes  it  down  and  turns  it  in. 
No,  there's  only  one  reviewer  worth  considering."  He 
shook  his  finger  at  her.  "  And  that 's  the  little  girl  in 
Terre  Haute  who  goes  down  to  the  book  store  and  rum 
mages  the  counter  till  she  finds  a  book  with  a  pretty  girl 
on  the  cover  and  illustrations  by  Misty,  plenty  of  conversa 
tion,  and  a  happy  ending  —  the  little  girl  that  takes  it  home 
with  a  box  of  caramels,  pins  a  blanket  over  the  transom  of 
her  door,  and  sits  up  and  reads  till  three  o'clock  and  then 
talks  about  it  next  day.  That  'j  who  I  want  .to  write  for. 
There 's  a  string  of  'em  from  here  to  San  Francisco,  all 
reading  the  same  book  at  the  same  time.  I  'd  like  to  marry 
one  of  them  and  find  out  what  they  're  like.  Perhaps  I 
could  get  an  idea  how  to  sell  more  than  twenty-five  hun 
dred  copies  then." 

"  Why,  you  have  set  your  name  in  American  literature  !  " 
Lady  Mechante  protested. 

u  I  'd  rather  set  my  name  in  the  Woman" s  Own  Comrade. 
I  never  saw  a  girl  in  a  street  car  reading  one  of  my  books. 
Why,  even  when  I  do  sell  one,  the  publisher  is  frightened 
to  death  of  my  copy.  In  the  last  one  they  even  made  me 

[336] 


THE   BEST  BEST   SELLER 


expurgate  three  dots  .  .  .  that  they  said  were  too  suggestive. 
Could  my  heroine  have  a  l  laughing  devil  in  her  eye '  ? 
Not  much.  They  changed  it  to  '  laughing  light.'  They 
made  her  go  home  at  ten  o'clock  instead  of  eleven,  and 
forbade  her  to  wear  silk  stockings.  The  natural  inference 
was,  of  course,  that  she  went  round  bare-legged.  Pub 
lishers  did  n't  care,  so  long  as  it  was  n't  mentioned.  I 
don't  care,  either  !  If  I  could  invent  a  woman  who  had 
nothing  but  a  head  and  hands,  I  'd  do  it,  too.  The  trouble 
is,  I  suppose,  I  know  too  much  about  society  to  write  about 
it  successfully,  and  I  've  seen  too  many  real  women  with 
characters  and  brains  to  be  able  to  draw  the  paper  dolls 
the  little  girls  want  nowadays.  But  I  '11  do  it,  by  heaven, 
if  I  have  to  get  my  little  niece  to  help  me !  I  '11  sell  in  the 
Middle  West  yet.  But  I  '11  have  to  get  a  bottle  of  pale 
blue  ink  to  write  with." 

So,  in  Lady  Mechanic's  little  salon,  Wrestling  Brewster 
Bradford  delivered  his  jeremiad.  She  assured  him  that  such 
magnificent  determination  must  win,  and  repeated  effort 
would  undoubtedly  place  him  in  the  ranks  of  the  select 
company  which  changes  year  by  year. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  u  meanwhile  I  can  only  congratulate 
any  grandchildren  you  may  have  for  your  posthumous  fame. 
You  '11  have  that,  anyway  !  " 

"  I  want  it  myself,  now  ;  I  don't  care  a  snap  for  my 
posterity." 

"  Tut,  tut  !  what  if  William  and  Wrestling  had  said 
that !  You  would  n't  be  such  an  aristocrat  to-day !  I 
can't  help  being  terribly  afraid  of  you,"  she  declared. 
"  Why,  I  suppose  you  have  coats-of-arms  on  your  walls 
and  family  trees  reaching  clear  to  the  ceiling,  have  n't  you  ? 
I  have  never  before  met  one  of  the  Mayflower  Descend- 

[337] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


ants.  It  seems  very  wonderful  to  the  poor  little  grand 
daughter  of  a  wretched  earl.  I  hope  you  won't  come  here 
with  all  your  blue  ribbons  and  things  on.  I  'm  terribly 
afraid  of  a  badge  !  You  '11  think  I  'm  a  miserable  little 
parvenu.  Don't  tell  me  you  're  a  Son  of  the  Draft  Riots  ! 
I  could  n't  stand  that !  " 

"  Oh,  you  must  n't  mind  it.  I  won't  patronize  you, 
I  'm  sure.  For  my  part,  I  think  a  lord  is  fully  the  equal 
of  a  member  of  the  Boston  Tea  Party.  They  are  nothing 
but  names,  anyway,  and  we  're  not  responsible  for  our 
ancestors." 

"  But  they  are,  in  a  way,  for  us." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  it 's  best  to  do  them  credit,  if  you  can.  But 
if  you  don't  happen  to  have  any  that  were  particularly  im 
portant  it  should  n't  matter  much." 

"Still,  it  gives  a  certain  something  —  a  poise,  a  dignity, 
that  I  could  never  attain,  I  'm  sure.  My  first  husband, 
Lord  Mechante,  used  to  say  that  he  felt  like  a  perfect 
bounder  every  time  he  met  a  New  Englander.  It 's  tre 
mendously  decent  of  you  to  come  and  see  me,  and  I  '11  have 
to  try  and  not  disgrace  you  if  I  can  manage  it.  Do  you 
think  I  ought  to  wear  my  coronet  ?  Or  would  it  be  too 
pitiful  to  try  and  keep  up  with  you  ?  Why,  your  sister 
may  be  the  president  of  a  Chapter,  for  all  I  know,  and  have 
her  picture  in  the  paper  every  time  there's  a  fight  in  the 
Board  of  Governors  !  I  'm  afraid  I  'm  perfectly  hopeless." 

He  twirled  his  moustache  deprecatingly.  "Nonsense, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Hellysh ;  you  're  quite  fit  for  any  circle  of 
American  society.  I  can't  think  you  would  seem  out 
of  place  in  even  our  oldest  families.  I  'm  sure  I  find  you 
most  au  fait.  It  does  me  good  to  see  another  sort  of 
person  for  a  change." 

[338] 


THE   BEST  BEST  SELLER 


"  Thank  you,"  said  Lady  Mechante.  "  It 's  awfully 
good  of  you  to  say  it.  And  I  've  been  thinking,  don't  you 
know,  that  still  more  of  it  might  do  you  good.  What  I 
mean  to  say  is  that  you  can't  get  the  popular  point  of  view 
you  need  by  association  with  your  blue-blooded  set." 

u  Well,  I  'm  associating  with  you  now,  am  I  not  ?  I  do 
find  the  change  beneficial,  I.  confess." 

"  Oh,  I  know,  but  you  see  the  trouble  is  that,  while  of 
course  I  'm  your  social  inferior,  I  happen  to  be,  mentally, 
quite  your  equal.  It's  precisely  that  mental  atmosphere 
which  you  should  change.  As  you  yourself  said,  you  can't 
write  about  society  if  you  're  in  society  yourself.  One 
does  n't  get  local  color  that  way  at  all.  Society  people 
don't  read  society  novels  ;  they  don't  need  to.  Society 
novels  are  written  for  the  benefit  and  amusement  of  the 
folk  beyond  the  pale.  It  is  their  conception  of  society  you 
want  to  get  before  you  become  one  of  the  immortal  Six. 
One  doesn't  expect  burglar  stones  to  be  written  by  bur 
glars,  does  one  ?  Nor  detective  stories  by  detectives.  Why 
should  a  society  man  write  a  society  story,  then  ?  It  is 
perfectly  absurd." 

"  But  I  never  wrote  a  society  story,"  said  Bradford. 

u  Which  is  precisely  why  you  are  not  a  Best  Seller." 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  any  way  out  of  it,  then." 

The  lady  laughed,  and  she  used  on  him  that  peculiar 
searching  glance  which  had  so  often  been  effective.  "  The 
way  out  of  it  is  perfectly  plain.  You  must  change  your 
milieu  —  your  view-point,  your  habits,  your  companions." 
Her  eyes  sparkled. 

u  How  can  I  do  that,  I  wonder  ?  "  He  mused  on  the 
problem. 

"  I  '11  tell  you.     You  must  go  down  into  the  under-world, 

[339] 


LADY  MECHANTE 


where  people  feel  and  do  not  think.  You  must  study  life 
at  close  range,  forget  your  proud  ancestry,  your  intellectual 
processes,  your  critical  sense.  Find  out  what  the  other 
half  reads,  and  why." 

"  Not  a  bad  idea,"  said  Bradford.  "  Of  course  I  do 
know  how  to  write,  and,  if  I  could  manage  to  forget  it,  I 
might  do  something  great." 

"  Oh,  it  is  n't  so  much  learning  how  not  to  write,  as  what 
not  to  write." 

"Well,  I  believe  I  '11  try  it.  I  might  get  a  position  as 
secretary,  say,  to  some  millionaire." 

Lady  Mechanic  snickered  as  she  looked  at  him.  "  What 
you  ought  to  do,"  she  said,  "is  —  I  know  it  is,  but  it  would 
be  too  perfect,  too  delicious  —  to  be  a  coal-heaver."  She 
raised  her  eyes  to  the  ceiling.  "  What  poetic  justice ! 
What  a  gorgeous  piece  of  symmetry  !  What  composi 
tion  !  What  compensation  !  " 

u  A  coal-heaver  !  Do  you  really  think  it  is  necessary  to 
be  quite  as  dirty  as  that,  Mrs.  Hellysh  ?  "  He  hung  upon 
her  words  anxiously. 

"  Well,  perhaps  not,"  she  sighed,  "  though  it  would  do 
me  infinite  good  if  you  could  only  bring  yourself  to  it.  I 
think  I  '11  have  to  let  you  off  with  footman.  I  happen  to 
know  a  very  respectable,  deserving  family,  entirely  out  of 
your  world  and,  of  course,  miles  below  you  socially.  They 
are  millionaires,  named  Van  Dream.  I  think  I  might  get 
you  in  there,  and  I  'm  sure  that  you  'd  find  among  the  ser 
vants  exactly  that  secret  of  life  and  literature  which  you 
will  find  essential  if  you  are  really  determined  to  succeed 
in  fiction." 

"  By  Jove  !  I  believe  you  have  got  the  solution  of  it !  " 
And  he  went  over  to  her,  patrician  though  he  was  —  so 

[34°] 


THE    BEST   BEST   SELLER 


shocked  out  of  his  traditional  calm  —  and  took  both  Lady 
Mechanic's  hands  in  his,  shaking  them  in  gratitude. 

She  looked  up  at  him  through  half-closed  lids  and  shot 
him  a  dangerous  little  message,  secret  as  a  Masonic  pass 
word.  He  did  not  receive  it,  though  the  little  adventuress 
got  her  answer.  The  complacency  of  the  Bradfords  pro 
tected  him.  There  was  too  much  ink  in  his  blood.  He 
was  too  intent  upon  the  scheme  she  had  proposed.  The 
more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more  sure  he  was  that  the  easiest 
path  to  literary  eminence  led  up  Mrs.  Van  Dream's  back 
stairs. 

He  gave  Lady  Mechante,  in  fact,  no  rest  until  she  had 
secured  the  position  for  him.  With  the  invention  of  his 
previous  history  and  the  forging  of  several  "  characters  " 
from  English  housekeepers,  it  was  hardly  a  week  before 
Wrestling  Brewster  Bradford,  in  a  striped  waistcoat  and 
brass  buttons,  opened  the  front  door  to  callers  at  the  Fifth 
Avenue  chateau. 


[  341 


Chapter 

THE    BEAST    OF    NEW    YORK 

You  are  next  a  prophet,  sign  tor, 
And,  but  the  sexes  differ,  speak  my  thoughts. 

(The  Brothers.) 


progressed  by  leaps  and  bounds. 
He  ran  rampant  through  society,  which 
followed  him,  gasping  at  the  exhibition. 
He  was  booted  and  spurred  now,  whip 
ping  them  right  and  left  with  flattery  and 
abuse,  debutante,  dancing  man  and  matron. 
Surely,  as  Methuselah  has  it,  "  For  him  who  careth  not,  the 
garlands  are  hung  in  every  house.'*  Smagg  cared  not  one 
whit  ;  he  was  playing  the  game  now,  and  was  more  inter 
ested  in  the  moves  than  the  winning.  Little  Emily  was 
not  the  only  dabchick  who  would  traffic  with  him  in  the 
peculiarly  modern  manner  of  flirtship  then  regnant.  Old 
lady  Van  Dream  was  but  one  of  his  conquests  among 
the  dowagers.  With  them,  however,  he  was  no  mere 
handy  man,  or  tame  cat,  to  do  their  bidding.  Smagg  had 
no  champagne  to  sell  and  no  axes  to  grind  ;  his  own  bright 
hatchet  Lady  Mechante  kept  well  sharpened  for  him.  With 
the  men  he  was  as  potent  ;  he  dominated  and  blustered, 
bluff  for  their  bluff,  brag  for  their  boast.  Indeed,  his 
patron,  seeing  how  well  his  words  carried,  how  magnifi 
cent  was  his  face  with  them,  had  serious  thoughts  of  estab 
lishing  him  downtown  in  a  splendid  mahogany  office,  with 

•  [342] 


THE    BEAST    OF   NEW    TORK 


counters,  brass  rails,  glass  doors,  and  blonde  typists  galore. 
Why,  in  this  city,  as  she  soon  discovered,  a  letterhead  suf 
ficed.  All  he  would  have  to  do  would  be  to  refuse  money, 
select  his  clients  from  the  line,  and  bag  the  sport.  If  he 
could  only  be  induced  to  fear  a  waiter  enough  to  spend  as 
much  as  his  fellows  in  the  fashionable  restaurants,  he  would 
inspire  confidence.  Smagg,  however,  had  a  way  of  order 
ing  only  what  he  wished  to  eat,  and  a  rooted  dislike  of 
paying  more  than  four  times  its  worth.  With  such  low 
tendencies  Lady  Mechante  was  afraid  to  risk  him  among 
the  men  of  the  city.  To  be  as  eccentric  as  that  one  must 
needs  have  millions,  which  she  had  not. 

She  followed  him,  then,  like  a  shadow  in  his  social  career. 
He  opened  doors  for  her,  for  he  was  branded  by  the  matrons 
as  an  Interesting  Young  Man.  She  kept  in  the  middle 
distance,  occasionally  venturing  near  enough  to  slip  him  an 
aphorism  or  epigram  or  a  paradox,  or  to  push  him  on  when 
he  grew  faint-hearted.  By  this  time,  however,  Smagg  had 
passed  the  first  corner  and  was  now  well  into  the  straight. 
His  eyes  began  to  open.  To  be  sulphide  with  bromides, 
and  with  sulphites  bromidic,  he  found,  was  the  way  to  suc 
cess.  He  needed  no  longer  the  advice :  "  Get  into  a 
corner  and  say  anything  you  can  think  of — only  talk!  " 
He  began  to  have  secrets  of  sorts  with  others  than  Dolly 
Van  Dream.  He  had  an  ingenious  way  of  discovering  what 
girls  most  liked  and  most  feared  to  talk  about,  and  he  was 
wonderful  with  the  mothers  of  babes.  He  was  taught  bridge 
and  learned  adroitly  when  to  lose  or  win.  He  talked  of 
Aitken  and  Jekyll  Island  to  one  set,  or  Virginia  Hot  Springs 
and  Lenox  to  another,  while,  with  those  on  the  perimeter 
of  his  circle,  he  had  discrimination  enough  to  mention  Palm 
Beach  or  Lakewood.  He  knew  now  how  many  buttons 

[343] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


should  be  on  the  coat  of  a  butler,  and  could  tell  a  parlor 
maid  from  an  upstairs  servant,  and  just  who  cleaned  the 
silver.  He  grew  to  know  every  horse  on  upper  Fifth 
Avenue  and  could  tell  when  a  landau's  lines  followed  the 
latest  mode. 

Meanwhile  he  was  leaving  cards,  eating  dinners  —  mark 
ing  with  the  end  of  his  fork  on  the  tablecloth,  to  illustrate 
his  remarks  —  loafing  in  clubs  with  his  hat  on  and  dally 
ing  on  the  links  with  the  best  of  them.  He  deplored  the 
inquisitiveness  and  impertinence  of  the  newspapers  with  the 
rest  of  his  set,  and,  with  the  rest  of  his  set,  read  the  society 
column  every  morning,  looking  for  the  latest  scandal  and  to 
see  if  his  name  were  mentioned.  He  sneered  at  politics  and 
the  corruption  of  the  municipal  administration,  but  thought 
it  foolish  to  attend  the  primaries.  At  this  phase  of  his  career 
lie  was,  in  his  circle,  an  average  man  and  slipped  along 
smoothly  and  easily  in  the  groove.  He  had  thoughts  on 
sociology,  too,  and  here  his  reputation  gave  him  authority. 
These,  however,  were  for  club  and  tea  table  use,  when  the 
social  secretaries  were  out  of  earshot. 

"You  can't  tell  me.  I  know  the  whole  thing,  and  I've 
seen  how  education  affects  the  working  people.  It 's  only 
making  the  masses  discontented.  It 's  merely  showing  them 
things  that  are  and  should  be  out  of  their  reach.  What's 
the  good  of  teaching  a  hod  carrier  astronomy  ?  He  '11  never 
be  able  to  own  an  observatory  —  he  '11  only  fall  off  his  ladder 
with  his  bricks  while  he  's  gawking  up  into  the  sky.  So 
long  as  they  don't  know  how  to  read,  they  're  happy.  No, 
I  don't  mind  a  coal-heaver  trying  to  pass  for  a  gentleman, 
if  he  can  do  it."  Here  Smagg  would  lean  back  and  roll  his 
Carolina  Perfecto  between  his  teeth. 

"No,  a    coal-heaver   couldn't    do   it  and    he   wouldn't 

[344] 


THE   BEAST   OF  NEW   YORK 


be  happy  if  he  did.  He  could  n't  do  it  because  his  psy 
chology  is  entirely  different  \  he  has  n't  evolved  suffi 
ciently  \  he  could  n't  make  the  fine  distinctions  we  all 
make.  Why,  he  could  n't  tell  a  foreign  champagne  from 
a  domestic  brand.  He  'd  show  the  mark  of  the  beast  and 
prefer  beer  to  either."  Here  Smagg's  eyes  grew  sad. 

"  He  would  n't  be  happy  just  because  he  did  prefer  beer. 
He  would  n't  be  happy  because  he  could  n't  have  his  way 
with  women  ;  he  could  n't  order  'em  about  and  kiss  'em 
the  way  he  used  to.  He  would  n't  be  happy  on  account  of 
his  clothes  and  his  tobacco.  You  can  teach  a  man  quater 
nions  and  Spenser's  poetry,  but  you  can't  teach  him  to  for 
get  the  taste  of  a  five-cent  plug  of  Navy  chewing  tobacco. 
It 's  nature's  law.  The  coherence  of  the  social  fabric  must 
be  maintained  or  our  civilization  will  all  go  to  pot."  And 
Haulick  Smagg  would  sigh  and  tap  the  bell  and  send  the  boy 
for  his  mail  and  a  couple  of  gin  rickeys. 

He  was  strong,  too,  for  the  family  as  the  indivisible  unit 
of  our  civilization,  strong  against  divorce  in  its  attempt  to 
divide  the  indivisible,  strong  for  the  "  social  fabric,"  to 
which  divorce  was  indubitably  hostile.  This,  in  the  second 
ary  stage  of  Smagg's  evolution.  The  time  was  to  come 
when,  breaking  free  from  his  house  of  bondage,  he  was  to 
proclaim  that  divorce  should  be  as  easy  as  marriage  —  that 
one  should  be  able  to  be  wedded  by  telephone  or  postcard 
and  be  divorced  by  the  nearest  policeman.  But  this  is 
premature. 

Through  all  this  conventional  career  Dolly  Van  Dream 
followed  him,  panting  and  breathless.  She  was  fascinated 
by  him,  alternately  delighted  and  disgusted.  By  just  that 
extra  ounce  of  brains  which  was  her  unique  birthright  in 
her  world  she  perceived  dimly  that  something  was  wrong. 

[345] 


LADY   M ECU  ANTE 


She  noted  tiny  inconsistencies  in  his  character.  Traces  of 
Smagg's  smaggery  appeared  at  times,  like  a  lozenge  of 
naked  skin  shown  in  the  back  of  a  lady's  neck  when  a 
button  has  gone  astray.  That  touch  of  humanity  in  him 
distinguished  him  from  the  staid  sobriety  of  other  men  in  her 
set.  It  was  as  if  she  saw  the  first  whiffs  of  smoke  from  a 
slumbering  volcano.  Her  social  instinct  disapproved  of  all 
evidences  of  originality,  but  her  mind  rejoiced.  It  made 
him  impossible,  but  it  made  him  charming.  When  he  was 
proper,  he  overdid  propriety ;  his  polish  was  suspiciously 
smooth,  so  smooth  that  the  scratches  of  smaggery  showed 
too  plainly  on  his  surface. 

There  was  another  source  of  disturbance  similar  to  this 
in  the  aspect  of  her  new  footman.  He,  too,  was  too  perfect 
in  his  manner  when  he  was  correct,  not  to  make  his  occa 
sional  lapses  from  a  beautiful  servility  noticeable.  He  had 
come,  extravagantly  recommended,  from  Lady  Mechante. 
He  had  been  Lord  Suddenleigh's  man,  and  valet  to  the  Duke 
of  Billingsgate.  If  so,  why,  when  she  caught  him  off  guard, 
should  this  very  well-trained  servant  eye  her  so  hungrily  ? 
He  waited  on  her  with  a  little  too  much  alacrity.  He  failed 
to  achieve  that  fine  scorn,  that  bored  look,  that  marks  the 
acme  of  service.  She  could  not  put  her  finger  on  the 
trouble  yet  with  either  of  them,  but  both  worried  her. 

To  Lady  Mechante,  however,  of  course  the  secret  was 
clear,  it  having  been  confided  to  her  by  the  footman  in  a 
hurried  interview  in  the  hall. 

"  This  is  just  exactly  what  I  wanted,"  said  Bradford.  u  Do 
you  know,  these  people  below  stairs  have  precisely  the  point 
of  view  on  society  that  is  necessary  for  successful  fiction. 
They  know  all  the  manners  and  customs  of  millionaires, 

[346] 


THE   BEAST   OF   NEW  YORK 


and  nothing  of  their  real  thoughts  and  emotions.  All  one 
has  to  do  is  to  take  a  lot  of  lay  figures  and  put  them  into 
the  attitudes  any  well-trained  servant  can  recognize  —  and 
there  you  have  a  Best  Seller  ready  made  to  your  hand. 
This  butler,  Tillotson,  I  believe,  has  the  thing  better  than 
even  my  little  girl  in  Terre  Haute,  and  I  'm  studying  his 
taste  night  and  day.  I  'm  finding  out  what  he  thinks  of 
these  people,  and  what  are  his  theories  as  to  their  actions. 
I  'm  not  so  sure  that  Tillotson  has  n't  written  a  lot  of  Best 
Sellers  himself.  Sometimes  I  suspect  him  of  being  really 
Robert  Hallroom  himself.  There  are  a  lot  of  Hallroom's 
books  whose  scenes  might  have  been  laid  in  this  very 
house.  His  whole  interpretation  of  society  convinces 


me. 


"I  believe  you  are  right,"  said  Lady  Mechante.  "It 
must  be  infinitely  amusing  to  be  a  servant.  I  quite  envy 
you  !  " 

u  The  trouble  is  I  can't  help  forgetting  occasionally  that 
I  am  a  servant.  Miss  Van  Dream  does  disturb  me  some, 
I  confess.  I  had  n't  expected  to  find  a  girl  like  that  in  a 
nest  of  mere  multimillionaires.  Why,  you  'd  never  imagine 
but  what  she  had  Family  !  Actually,  I  should  n't  won 
der  but  her  ancestry  goes  back  a  couple  of  hundred  years. 
Of  course  you'd  never  mistake  her  for  a  Mayflower 
Descendant,  you  know,  but  her  people  might  have  come 
over  in  the  Blessing  of  the  Bay,  say.  That  vessel  did  n't 
land  at  Plymouth,  you  know,  but  at  Salem,  and  not  till 
1630.  Ten  years  makes  a  lot  of  difference  to  an  ancestor 
in  America." 

She  laughed  and  left  him  to  his  point  of  view  and  his 
dilemma,  for  she  had  started  him  and  he  would  go  straight 
enough  to  the  inevitable  climax.  Haulick  Smagg  required 

[347] 


new  attention  now,  for  he  was  developing  rapidly  in  a  new 
direction. 

Haulick  Smagg,  in  fact,  had  suddenly  become  the  victim 
of  a  yearning  for  Art.  He  longed  for  expression.  Many 
days  of  dalliance  in  Dolly  Van  Dream's  studio  and  the 
workrooms  of  similar  academic  painters  had  inspired  in 
him  a  desire  for  creation.  He  wanted  to  go  and  do  like 
wise;  have  admiring  visitors  "oh!"  and  "ah!"  at  his 
canvases  while  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  deprecatingly. 
This  fitted  Lady  Mechanic's  plans  to  a  T.  She  established 
him  in  a  studio  on  Twenty-third  Street  and  bought  him  the 
paraphernalia  of  his  craft,  taking  care  that  his  stretchers 
should  be  huge,  his  colors  violent.  She  expected  some 
thing  elemental,  titanic.  She  would  know  now  how 
the  cave  man  graved  his  mammoth  upon  the  reindeer's 
horn. 

Nor  was  she  disappointed. 

for  a  while  she  left  him  alone  with  his  genius,  while  the 
roc's  egg  hatched.  Not  by  one  maxim  or  platitude,  such 
as  guided  his  course  in  society,  did  she  direct  his  path  in 
art.  Round  the  second  corner  in  his  career  he  must  steer 
alone.  She  had  wound  him  up  and  set  him  but  for  this, 
and  she  anticipated  delight  in  his  wild  curves  and  flights. 
7  he  mechanics  of  it  was  easy  enough.  He  had  seen 
paints  mixed  and  applied.  He  had  seen  painters  at  work, 
with  nude  models  posed  stiffly  against  leather  screens  or 
draperies.  He  had  seen  artists  imitate  the  photograph  with 
realism,  or  imitate  the  mist  with  impressionism.  He  had 
studied  still  life  and  genre.  He  had  seen  men  frame  nature 
and  dismember  it.  Which  would  he  choose  ?  Calm,  sane 
tonalities,  or  the  perfervid  rapture  of  pure  color? 

A  week,  two  weeks,  elapsed  before  Lady  Mechante  dared 
[348] 


THE   BEAST   OF  NEW   YORK 


visit  his  studio,  but  at  the  first  peep  through  the  door  she 
shrieked  with  delight  and  astonishment.  No  well-bred 
nudes,  no  complacent  landscapes  or  still  lifes  confronted 
her.  The  vision  was  stunning;  a  less  courageous  mind 
than  hers  would  have  thought  it  horrid.  On  the  easel, 
upon  the  wall,  or  standing  upon  the  floor,  here,  there,  and 
everywhere,  impossible  of  escaping,  were  such  pictures 
drawn  with  such  ferocity,  colored  with  such  violent  hues, 
as  made  the  place  desperate.  His  canvases  challenged  rea 
son,  defied  art,  boldly  proclaimed  themselves  for  the  impos 
sible.  The  outrageous  appeal  of  the  primitive  had  called 
forth  monsters  from  his  brush. 

But,  by  every  law  of  Nietzsche,  he  had  proved  himself 
no  decadent.  His  wild  art  was  ascendant.  Surely  it  was 
a  surplus  of  life  that  had  urged  him  to  his  fearful  work  ; 
he  had  painted,  not  to  express  himself  but  to  satisfy  him 
self —  to  create  a  new  world.  He  had  come  to  his  "will 
to  power"  -he  had  evoked  new  objects  of  desire.  What 
ravenous  hunger  stimulated  him  she  well  knew,  for  she  had 
marked  the  rise  of  his  virile  mentality  —  she  was  prepared 
for  this  outburst  of  fiery  emotion  and  rejoiced. 

Yet  it  was  not  this  apotheosis  of  the  ugly  that  surprised 
her  most.  Wild  work  she  had  expected  and  desired,  but 
that  he  had  in  his  initial  conception  and  in  his  utter  abroga 
tion  of  technique  happened  unconsciously  to  fall  in  line 
with  the  latest  cry  of  Paris  was  miraculous.  He,  who  had 
never  been  in  France,  who  had  never  seen  a  single  disciple 
of  its  school,  was  of  "  les  fauves  "  —  he  was  a  Wild  Beast 
-wilder,  if  possible,  than  Derain,  as  wild  as  Czobel  or 
Picasso.  Haulick  Smagg,  as  the  first  priest  of  Horror,  had 
brought  the  unholy  doctrine  at  last  into  New  York. 

Exquisitely  modern  herself,  she   had   long  been   familiar 
[  349] 


LADY   MECHANTE 


with  the  new  revolt  against  Impressionism  in  Paris.  She 
had  followed  that  crazy  little  band  of  artists  when,  in  their 
first  break  away  from  tradition,  they  had  been  dubbed  the 
"  Incoherents  "  ;  followed  them  till  Matisse  took  the  lead 
of  the  "  Invertebrates."  In  two  weeks  Haulick  Smagg 
had  proved  himself  more  invertebrate,  more  incoherent, 
than  the  wildest  Beast.  He  had  no  classic  education  to 
forget  or  eschew ;  he  had  neither  mottled  his  canvases  with 
pigment  nor  laid  on  his  tones  transparent  with  turpentine. 
So,  without  imitation,  with  no  knowledge  of  the  vocabulary 
of  "  les  fauves,"  with  no  prating  of  "  harmonies  of  volume," 
voicing  no  scorn  for  "  mere  charm,"  his  native  abandon 
had  eclipsed  the  maddest  of  these  foreign  sensationalists. 

The  rudely  carven  African  gods  that  had  delighted  and 
stimulated  Derain,  the  Alaskan  totem  poles  to  which  Picasso 
was  indebted  for  his  fury,  the  Aztec  graven  images  that  had 
urged  Czobel  to  his  ferocity,  were  all  unknown  to  Haulick 
Smagg.  Unknown  was  the  simplicity  of  Egyptian  sculp 
tures,  the  directness  of  Hindoo  indecency,  the  ingenuous 
frankness  of  Bayeux  broderies,  the  naif  freaks  of  Malayan 
or  Fijian  art.  He  had  for  a  stimulus  only  a  hunger  for 
something  more  furiously  emotional  than  he  had  seen,  more 
blood-curdling,  more  dire.  Matisse,  the  Master,  drew 
women  with  six  fingers.  Smagg  drew  them  with  twelve 
or  thirteen.  Picasso  drew  them  with  triangles;  Smagg's 
were  fused  trapezoids.  Derain's  shrill  blues  and  tumul 
tuous  reds,  Czobel's  harsh  greens,  and  Picasso's  hot  yellows 
Smagg,  in  his  artistic  orgy,  rewove  into  crazier  forms.  His 
nudes,  if  they  were  nudes,  these  jagged  nightmare-hued 
objects,  were  revolting  to  the  ordinary  spectator,  not  with 
suggestive  nakedness,  but  with  their  immoral,  unspeakable 
garments  of  frenetic  color. 

[350] 


THE    BEAST    OF   NEW   YORK 


Lady  Me*chante,  seeing  all  this,  perceived  that  Smagg's 
wings  had  begun  to  sprout.  How  long  could  she  hold 
him  ? 

She  had  found  the  outer  door  ajar  and  had  gone  in  to 
wander  in  amazement  through  the  studio  for  a  while,  gloat 
ing  over  his  barbaric  essays.  Now  she  noticed  upon  the 
table  a  huge  white  bowl  of  liquid  red  paint  standing  on  the 
exact  center.  She  was  looking  at  it,  smiling,  at  no  loss  to 
interpret  its  meaning,  when  Smagg  burst  in  bearing  a  leather 
suit-case.  He  looked  up  at  her  like  a  hound. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  'em  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  know  what  they  mean,  first." 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  do  you  ?  " 

He  set  down  the  suit-case  and  opened  it.  Out  tumbled 
a  model  cube  of  white  painted  wood,  a  glass  sphere,  and  a 
piece  of  intricately  twisted  telegraph  wire.  He  placed  them 
affectionately  upon  the  table,  then  stepped  back  and  re 
garded  them  musingly.  "  How  do  you  like  them  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  Do  they  mean  anything,  too  ?  " 

She  caressed  the  crystal  sphere  gently.  "  I  suppose  this 
is  a  symbol  of  simplicity  and  unity"  —she  touched  the 
telegraph  wire  —  "as  this  is  of  complexity."  She  looked 
at  him  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eyes  as  if  anxious  as  to  his 
reply. 

"  Symbols  be  durned  !  "  He  took  up  the  cube,  feeling 
gratefully  its  edges  and  corners.  "  I  like  'em  for  themselves, 
the  same  as  I  like  you  for  yourself,  don't  I  ?  I  like  this 
cube  because  it 's  square  and  straight  and  sharp  !  '  He 
took  up  the  sphere.  "  I  like  this  because  it 's  round  and 
transparent  and  heavy."  He  fingered  the  telegraph  wire. 
"  I  like  this  because  it 's  one  thing  and  yet  it  squirms  into 


LADY  MECHANTE 


a  mixed-up  mess.  It  has  a  character  of  its  own.  It 's 
funny,  and  it  makes  me  happy." 

"  And  this  bowl  of  red  paint  ?  "  she  asked,  scarcely  able 
to  resist  her  impulse  to  hug  him. 

"  I  like  it  because  it 's  RED  !  "  He  dipped  his  big  fore 
finger  into  it  and  held  up  his  hand,  dripping,  as  if  it  had 
been  plunged  in  blood.  So  keen  was  the  delight  written 
upon  his  face  that  she  almost  expected  him  to  lick  his  finger 
to  gain  another  vivid,  sensuous  impression.  "  Can't  you 
understand  it  ?  "  he  asked  plaintively.  "  Can't  you  see 
that  mere  heaviness  and  squareness  and  redness  are  won 
derful  and  compelling  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Haulick,"  she  exclaimed,  u  it 's  you  who  are 
wonderful  and  compelling  !  You  've  quite  crawled  out  of 
the  chrysalis!  I'm  afraid  of  you.  I  feel  as  if  I  were 
struggling  to  hold  down  a  half-filled  balloon.  If  you  can 
only  explain  your  pictures  as  well  —  but  that  would  be  too 
much!" 

"Do  you  think  they're  beautiful?"  he  asked. 

"  Well,  hardly  that." 

"  Do  you  think  they  're  ugly  ?  " 

"  They  're  not  that  either,  exactly.  They  're  something 
different  to  both." 

He  nodded  his  head  thoughtfully,  and  his  lean,  spare  face 
seemed  to  become  faintly  transfused  with  light,  as  if  it 
were  being  gradually  illuminated  by  some  increasing  spark 
within  his  brain.  Then  he  spoke  slowly.  "It's  this  way, 
it  seems  to  me."  He  held  up  the  twisted  wire.  "Suppose 
this  is  beautiful.  Now,  if  I  turn  it  upside  down  it  repre 
sents  the  ugly,  we  '11  say,  because  the  ugly  is  the  opposite 
of  the  beautiful."  He  walked  with  his  symbol  toward  the 
mirror.  "  Then  what  does  the  image  in  the  glass  mean,  I  'd 

[35*] 


LADT  MECHANTE 


like  to  know  ?  It 's  the  beautiful  backwards  or  inside  out, 
ain't  it?  That's  what  I  mean!  That's  what  I  tried  to 
paint.  I  don't  know  what  you  call  it,  but  it 's  a  new  kind 
of  beauty  that  no  one  's  ever  seen.  And,  by  Gawd,  it 's  my 
kind  !  I  've  felt  it  all  my  life,  dimly.  I  can't  do  it  yet,  but 
that 's  what  I  'm  after." 

"  My  dear  amiable  Titan,"  she  said,  going  up  to  him 
and  taking  his  hand,  "if  you  only  knew  it,  there  are 
hundreds  of  young  men  in  Paris  who  are  after  the  same 
thing  and  have  n't  come  half  as  near  to  it  as  you  have. 
Before  long  you'll  be  talking  of  'harmonies  of  volume,' 
too  !  " 

And  while  he  listened  rapt,  she  told  him  of"  les  fauves  " 
and  the  school  of  experimenters  who  were  pursuing  the 
neo-primitive  in  Montmartre  and  Montparnasse.  She  told 
him  of  Picasso,  who,  since  Matisse  had  said  the  triangle 
was  the  symbol  of  the  absolute,  had  contrived  huge,  colored 
females  entirely  of  triangles  and  named  them  "  Absolute 
Woman."  She  told  of  Chabot,  the  gay-hearted  Provencal, 
who  did  his  landscapes  with  thick  black  lines,  as  if  by  a 
red-hot  poker.  She  told  him  of  Herbin,  whose  perspec 
tives  were  more  violent  than  the  Japanese.  Lastly,  she  told 
him  of  the  Japanese,  too,  who  cast  no  shadows,  portraying 
the  Thing  Itself. 

"  And  I  suppose  that,  like  them,  you  use  no  models,"  she 
ended.  "  I  don't  know  where  you  'd  get  a  woman  to  paint 
such  things  from,  unless  she'd  been  through  an  earthquake 
and  half  a  dozen  railroad  accidents." 

"Models?  Of  course  I  used  them!  Pretty  girls,  too, 
you  'd  call  'em,  some  of  'em  ;  some  of  'em  homely.  Can't 
a  homely  woman  have  bulk  and  —  what  was  it  you  called 
it  ?  " 

[354] 


THE   BEAST   OF  NEW   TORK 


"  Harmony  of  volume,"  she  smiled.     "  You  've  come  to 
it  at  last ;   I  thought  you  would." 

He  threw  out  his  hands  in  a  despairing  gesture.  "  Don't 
you  understand  ?  I  don't  try  to  paint  what  I  see  —  that 's 
what  they  all  do,  and  it  can't  be  done  !  I  paint  what  I 
feel  when  I  look  at  a  thing.  Why,  see  here;  what  did 
you  tell  me  yourself  about  this  here  Chopin  —  that  prelude 
he  did  in  a  thunder-storm,  was  n't  it  ?  He  did  n't  try  to 
imitate  thunder  on  the  piano,  or  rain,  or  waves,  or  anything 
like  that.  But  when  you  played  it  I  felt  like  I  was  dying. 
That 's  what  I  want  to  do.  When  I  see  a  thing  I  like,  it 
gives  me  a  kind  of  an  ache  somewhere.  I  ain't  trying  to 
paint  the  thing  ;  I  'm  painting  the  ache,  kind  of." 

"  My  poor  fellow,  how  you  must  have  suffered  !  " 

Lady  Mechante  gazed  at  the  representation  of  a  flayed 
female  on  an  easel.  One  arm  was  curved  like  the  handle 
of  a  pitcher  ;  the  other  was  as  angular  as  a  fylfot.  The 
lady's  toes  were  like  a  coarse  tooth  comb  upon  the  end  of 
her  oblong  feet.  There  was  Smagg's  beauty,  not  intrinsic, 
but  subjective,  forthright  in  his  primitive,  direct  appeal  to 
the  emotions.  With  all  its  decorative  might,  she  could,  by 
standing  mentally  upon  her  head,  see  that  the  thing  had 
feeling.  It  was  no  mere  message  to  the  senses. 

"  If  we  can  only  keep  it  out  of  the  Sunday  supplements," 
she  said  thoughtfully,  "  and  get  it  into  the  heads  of  one  or 
two  I  know,  I  '11  soon  have  you  another  title.  You  '11  be  as 
famous  in  Art  as  you  are  in  Society.  By  the  way,  how  are 
you  getting  along  at  the  Van  Dreams'  now  ?  I  've  quite 
lost  sight  of  you." 

"  Oh,  that 's  so,"  said  Smagg.  "  The  old  lady  wanted  me 
to  come  up  this  afternoon  and  go  over  a  list  of  people  she 
wants  to  invite  for  a  dinner  dance.  I  'm  afraid  she's  going 

[355] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


to  ask  two  or  three  debutantes  I  don't  like  the  looks  of,  and 
she  had  a  rotten  wine  last  time.  I  guess  I'll  run  up  and 
see  that  she  does  it  right." 

He  took  up  a  pound  tube  of  Prussian  blue  and  squeezed 
it  viciously  till  it  squirmed  like  a  snake  all  over  his  immense 
palate,  then  daubed  a  fat  brush  into  the  fierie  color. 


[356 


Chapter  €tgf)t 


SMAGG    IN    APOGEE 

/  warrant  you,  you  shall  see  me  prove  the  very  periwig  to 


cover 


the  pate  of  brainless  gentility 


(Antonio  and  Mellida.) 


IS  Lady  Mechanic,  alias  Mrs.  Nelly  Hellysh, 
left  Dolly  Van  Dream's  own  sitting-room, 
she  was  plucked  at  in  the  hall  by  a  hand 
some  and  distinguished  footman  and  drawn 
into  the  reception  room.  Bradford's  eyes 
were  alight  with  emotion  ;  Bradford's  hands 
trembled.  He  had  dropped  his  servility  in  this  clandestine 
retreat  and  was  once  more  the  Scion  of  Shays'  Rebellion. 

"  What  do  you  think  ?  "  he  whispered.  "  I  have  discov 
ered  the  most  tremendous  piece  of  graft  and  corruption  ever 
known !  There 's  an  outrageous  traffic  going  on  in  this 
house  and,  I  believe,  in  almost  every  other  big  Fifth  Avenue 
residence,  that  will  make  the  most  sensational  articles  ever 
printed  in  a  magazine.  Why,  I  '11  only  have  to  pick  my 
editors  and  name  my  terms  !  " 

"  Whatever  do  you  mean  ?  Have  you  ferreted  out  the 
Shame  of  the  Debutantes,  or  Frenzied  Lingerie,  the  Crimes 
of  the  Chaperones,  or  what  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it 's  too  revolting !  All  these  butlers,  it  seems, 
take  tips  from  their  millionaire  employers  for  teaching  them 
etiquette  in  their  leisure  moments.  They  Ve  leagued  them 
selves  together  and  concocted  all  sorts  of  new  rules  of  de- 

[357] 


LADY   MECHANTE 


portment  for  society.  By  this  time  the  millionaires  are 
completely  under  the  thumbs  of  the  butlers.  The  location 
of  the  forks  and  spoons  on  the  table  is  changed  every  week, 
so  nobody  will  know  how  to  use  them  without  instruction. 
Same  way  with  the  handshake,  with  visiting  cards,  and  all 
sorts  of  things.  How  to  use  a  valet,  tipping  in  country 
houses,  good  form  at  the  opera  —  all  extra.  They're  try 
ing  to  make  the  whole  thing  so  complicated  that  nobody 
will  know  what  to  do  or  how  to  do  it.  Why,  I  Ve  seen 
butlers  bully  their  employers  in  a  way  to  make  your  blood 
run  cold !  It  's  come  to  a  pass  where  these  merchant 
princes  never  know  whether  they  're  good  form  or  not  till 
they  have  their  daily  lesson.  These  butlers  won't  let  a  man 
see  his  own  friends  if  they  don't  like  them.  They  can  pro 
nounce  a  debutante  dedass'ee,  and  she  can't  get  to  a  dinner  in 
a  season.  You  wouldn't  believe  how  far  it's  gone,  and 
it 's  getting  worse  every  day." 

•'  Well,  how  are  you  going  to  cope  with  it  ?  Have  you  a 
remedy  ?  " 

"Surely.  I  'm  going  to  propose  the  establishment  of  a 
clearing-house  for  visiting-cards  at  the  Plaza  Hotel.  Then 
nobody  will  have  to  call  at  all.  Every  card  will  be  credited 
and  statements  issued  every  month.  The  same  way  with 
the  dinners.  Mrs.  A.  will  give  a  promissory  note  for  one  to 
Mrs.  B.  Mrs.  B.  will  do  the  same  for  Mrs.  A.,  and  when 
the  books  are  balanced  the  whole  thing  will  be  evened  up 
without  dining  at  all.  It  will  rescue  the  millionaires  from 
the  clutches  of  the  butlers,  and  give  them  time  and  oppor 
tunity  to  enjoy  themselves  in  a  sane  human  fashion." 

u  You  will  become  famous  !  " 

"  I  should  say  so,"  said  Bradford,  exultantly.  "  For  the 
first  time  in  my  life  I'll  achieve  a  'blurb.'  There'll  be  a 

[358] 


SMAGG   IN  APOGEE 


blurb  in  the  magazines  booming  me  as  the  newest  muck- 
raker,  a  blurb  on  the  paper  jacket  of  my  book  telling  how 
many  heart  throbs  there  are  in  the  volume,  and  blurbs  in 
the  advertising  columns  of  the  papers  saying  that  thirteen 
editions  were  exhausted  before  publication,  blurbs  in  the 
Editor's  Guff  of  the  Twocenter  Magazine  blurbing  me  as 
their  latest  discovery.  I  'm  going  to  be  discovered,  Mrs. 
Hellysh  ;  there  's  no  doubt  about  that  now  ! 

"Fancy  Wrestling  Brewster  Bradford  being  discovered! 
Fancy  the  author  of  c  Essays  in  Enchantment '  being  dis 
covered  —  in  a  muck  heap  !  " 

Bradford  looked  far  away,  through  the  silken  tapestry  of 
the  wall,  through  the  shell  of  French  Renaissance  to  where 
lay  his  dream.  Lady  Mechante  called  him  out  of  his  rev 
erie.  "And  how  about  Dolly  ?"  she  asked. 

He  started  convulsively  and  looked  at  her.  "  I  can't  get 
her  out  of  my  mind,"  he  said  ;  u  she  seems  so  incongruous 
here  in  the  midst  of  all  this  mere  vulgar  wealth.  It  does  n't 
seem  to  rub  off  on  her  at  all,  somehow;  she's  like  a  white 
pigeon  in  the  slums.  I  hate  to  think  of  her  as  being  below 
me.  Mrs.  Hellysh,  I  am  seriously  intrigued ;  I  am  very 
much  afraid  that  I  am  in  danger  of  becoming  entangled  in 
a  mesalliance ." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Bradford  !  "  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands. 
"  Think  of  your  mother  !  Think  of  your  sister —  think  of 
the  Colonial  Skirmishers!  You,  a  nephew-in-law  of  a  Sec 
retary  of  the  Descendants  of  the  Survivors  of  the  Indian 
Massacres  !  Let  me  beg  of  you  to  think  twice  before  you 
offer  your  hand  to  the  daughter  of  a  mere  millionaire." 

"  Oh,  it 's  not  in  that  quality  that  I  shall  offer  myself," 
he  replied.  "  In  fact,  I  don't  want  her  to  know  that  I  'm 
in  any  way  her  superior.  I  want  her  to  love  me  for  myself 

[359] 


LADY   MECHANTE 


alone.  If  she  accepts  me  as  a  simple  footman,  I  '11  know 
her  heart  's  all  right,  and  she  will  be  worthy  to  be  a  Scion- 
by-marriage  of  Shays'  Rebellion." 

"  James  !  "  Miss  Van  Dream's  voice  came  singing  down 
the  hall,  searching  her  lackey.  Lady  Mechante  hurriedly 
withdrew. 


It  was  lucky  for  the  footman's  peace  of  mind  and  matri 
monial  air  castles  that  he  did  not  hear  a  conversation  that 
was  even  then  taking  place  in  the  library,  where  old  lady 
Van  Dream,  gazing  indulgently  at  poor  Smagg,  was  unbur 
dening  a  mother's  breast.  Haulick  Smagg,  in  pin-pointed 
morning  coat,  in  fawn  waistcoat  and  shepherd's-plaid  trou 
sers,  was  giving  negligent  attention,  dividing  his  interest  in 
her  with  a  petulant  Pomeranian  puppy  that  gnawed  at  his 
heels. 

cc  I  don't  know  what  I  'm  going  to  do  with  Dolly,"  said 
Mrs.  Van  Dream. 

"  Well,  I  guess  you  need  n't  worry.  If  there  's  anything 
going  to  be  done,  she  '11  do  it  herself." 

"  Ah,  but  this  is  a  thing  she  can  hardly  do  herself." 

"  Why  not  ?      Ain't  she  clever  enough  ?  " 

"But  this  is  a  man's  work,  Mr.  Smagg." 

cc  She  can  do  a  bigger  man's  work  than  most  men  I  know. 
I  seen  her  pick  up  and  carry  a  wad  of  clay  as  heavy  as  a 
cartwheel  the  other  day." 

"  Oh,  it  is  n't  a  question  of  strength,  but  of  delicacy." 

"  What  is  it  then,  Lulu  ?      Out  with  it !  " 

"  Can't  you  guess,  Mr.  Smagg  ?  "  She  assumed  a  senti 
mental  attitude.  "  I  want  Dolly  to  be  happy." 

"  Why,  ain't  she  happy  ?  She  looks  all  right.  I  should 
say  she  'd  gained  four  pounds  in  the  last  week." 


SMAGG   IN  APOGEE 


"  She  needs  protection.  She  needs  a  man  to  lean  upon. 
She  needs  you,  Mr.  Smagg."  She  watched  the  effect  of  her 
words  anxiously. 

"  First  I  ever  heard  of  it,"  said  Smagg,  kicking  the 
Pomeranian  till  it  yelped. 

"  She  would  n't  be  likely  to  tell  you  ;  she  would  n't  want 
you  to  know." 

"  What  do  you  tell  me  for  then  ?  " 

u  Because  I  know  you  love  her.  I  know  my  mother's 
eyes  are  not  deceived."  She  added  soulfully  :  u  You  can't 
deceive  me,  Mr.  Smagg.  I  am  never  mistaken  in  these  things. 
I  can  feel  your  vibrations." 

"  Huh  !  "  said  Smagg.  "  You  may  feel  'em,  but  I  '11  be 
durned  if  I  can." 

She  shook  her  finger  at  him  playfully.  u  I  know  !  You 
men  are  all  alike." 

u  If  they  're  all  alike,  would  n't  somebody  else  do  just  as 
well  ?  "  Smagg  was  sullen. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  don't  want  to  marry  her  ? 
Why,  you  've  been  paying  her  all  sorts  of  attentions." 

He  began  to  fear  the  old  lady  ;  like  a  spider  she  was 
drawing  him  into  her  web.  For  the  first  time  he  felt  unable 
to  cope  with  her.  As  a  last  resource  he  fell  back  on  his 
vade  me  cum. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  there  was  once  a  fox  - 

She  shook  her  finger  at  him  playfully.  "  Oh,  I  know,  I 
know,"  she  said.  "  But  Dolly  will  be  well  provided  for,  Mr. 
Smagg.  I  '11  see  to  that.  You  won't  find  me  ungenerous." 

"I'd  rather  marry  you,"  said  Smagg.  "There  ain't 
quite  enough  of  her  to  suit  me." 

Mrs.  Van  Dream,  though  not  displeased,  pursued  the 
subject.  u  Don't  you  think  she  's  pretty  ?  " 

[36.] 


LADT  MECHANTE 


"  I  don't  know,"  said  Smagg,  thoughtfully.  "  She  might 
do.  I  '11  think  it  over.  You  was  n't  thinking  of  getting 
married  yourself,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"My  dear  boy,  I'm  old  enough  to  be  your  mother;  I 
hope  I  shall  be  your  mother  before  long." 

"  Mother-in-laws  are  a  pile  different  from  mothers,  from 
all  I  hear." 

He  left  Mrs.  Van  Dream  dangling  in  doubt,  yet  hop 
ing  against  hope  that  this  interesting  young  man,  who  had 
made  such  a  furore  in  her  set  and  was  fast  becoming  a 
society  leader,  would,  before  long,  become  a  member  of  the 
family. 

She  had  spoken  of  Dolly's  happiness,  voicing  her  mater 
nal  instinct  more  than  Dolly's  own  views  on  the  subject. 
Mother  and  daughter  had  indulged  in  touching  confidences, 
one  to  the  other,  but,  though  Dolly  acknowledged  that  she 
was  fascinated,  she  was  by  no  means  sure  she  was  willing  to 
marry  any  such  society  comet  as  Smagg  had  proved  to  be, 
social  arbiter  though  he  might  become. 

True,  most  of  the  traces  of  what  Dolly  had  called 
"  smaggery  "  had  vanished.  He  no  longer  smagged  flies. 
He  did  not  smagg  into  a  room  in  the  old  way  she  had 
laughed  at,  nor  did  he  smagg  his  food.  He  fell  asleep  less 
often  upon  the  couch  when  he  was  bored  ;  he  seldom 
cleaned  his  nails  in  public  now,  or  spat  upon  the  sidewalk. 
But  he  had  lost  none  of  his  virility  ;  he  radiated  force. 
Indeed,  his  very  smaggery,  transformed,  sublimated  in 
the  world  of  art,  had  thrilled  her  even  more  deeply  than 
she  had  been  thrilled  that  evening  that  he  smagged  her 
when  the  lights  went  out. 

She  was,  in  fact,  his  first  disciple,  the  first  eagerly  to  ac 
cept  his  ideas  and  manufacture  phrases  by  which  to  justify 

[362] 


SMAGG   IN  APOGEE 


them.  She  had  rallied  the  more  radical  of  both  the  groups 
she  led,  the  Intellectuals  and  the  Endowed.  Already  one 
heard  much  of  "harmonies  of  volume,"  much  diatribe 
directed  against  "  mere  charm."  Dolly  herself  was  inca 
pable  of  wielding  her  own  brush  in  so  heroic  a  manner,  but 
something  in  his  masculine  potency  of  appeal  she  answered 
to.  Answered  sub-consciously  as  yet;  for,  as  yet,  she  thought 
herself  moved  more  by  a  theory  than  by  a  man.  Intellect 
ually  and  emotionally  she  embraced  his  ideas,  but  embracing 
Smagg  himself  was  a  different  matter.  She  could  not  yet 
forget  his  smaggery  that  appeared  as  the  scratches  on  his 
varnish,  when,  occasionally,  he  yawned  or  stared.  Still, 
he  disturbed  her.  Many  a  night  she  wet  her  pillow  with 
her  tears,  wondering  how  such  a  man  could  move  her. 

But  he  was  to  move  her  more,  consciously  and  uncon 
sciously,  in  intellect  and  in  emotion  ;  for  Smagg's  wings 
grew  from  day  to  day.  He  had  turned  his  second  corner. 
His  surplus  vitality  urged  him  on.  His  lesson  learned, 
he  found  the  task  too  easy.  He  grew  like  a  weed.  He 
was  now  almost  free  of  Lady  Mechante's  guidance  and 
observation.  The  platitudes  with  which  he  had  won  his 
entrance  into  society  were  discarded,  for  he  no  longer 
needed  them.  The  bromidic  views  upon  the  Submerged 
Tenth  with  which  she  had  so  artfully  impregnated  his  mental 
system  were,  in  this  new  phase,  thrown  off,  defeated  by  the 
virile  power  of  Smagg's  new-fledged  mind.  He  no  longer 
indulged  in  polite  asteisms  and  pedantic  patronage  with  re 
gard  to  Socialism.  Seeing  the  old  industrial  order  was  as 
bad  as  could  be  conceived,  he  flew  to  the  ranks  of  the  only 
camp  of  thought  that  offered  a  remedy. 

He  marveled  at  the  heavy,  useless  burdens  of  the  rich  — 
their  unnecessary  responsibilities,  their  fatuous  frivolity,  their 

[363] 


LADT  MECHANTE 


foolish  harness  of  fashion.  He  marveled  at  their  uncon 
sciousness  of  so  much  he  considered  essential  in  life.  Why, 
they  were  like  hunting-dogs  who  used  their  ears  and  noses, 
but  never  their  eyes.  He  heard  them  talking  freely  of 
themselves  and  each  other  before  servants,  as  if  they  were 
being  waited  on  by  deaf-mutes.  He  saw  men  everywhere 
dominated  by  women,  and  women  scarcely  ever  clever 
enough  to  profit  by  their  advantage  save  in  the  most  petty 
transactions.  He  marveled  at  men  who  owned  a  hundred 
and  fifty  pairs  of  shoes  apiece,  and  women  apparently  with 
six  husbands  each.  And  all  kept  up  the  marvelous  game 
of  hypocrisy,  each  pretending  to  the  other  that  he  was  doing 
something  everyone  knew  he  was  n't.  How  they  boasted 
of  their  chains  ! 

And  much  he  marveled  at  that  sad,  equivocal  creature 
who,  occulted  by  the  brilliance  of  rich  relatives,  wore  her 
pathetic  masquerade  as  lady  in  the  world  she  had  all  but 
lost.  He  watched  these  "companions,"  or  social  secreta 
ries,  belike,  and  when  occasion  offered  gave  them  sympathy 
in  their  dubious  state.  While  on  country  visits  he  often 
saw  one  of  these  hapless,  luckless  ones  in  her  decayed  gen 
tility  when  the  house  was  crowded  share  her  room  with  a 
maid  without  daring  to  protest.  He  saw  her  in  the  city 
carrying  dogs  across  the  street  like  lackeys.  He  saw  her 
on  the  front  seats  of  motor-cars,  when  gentlemen  rode  in 
side.  He  saw  her  in  hotels,  going  down  to  breakfast  in  the 
dining-room  to  save  the  fifty-cent  service  in  her  room.  He 
saw  her  forced  to  stay  indoors  on  a  Sunday  afternoon, 
when  the  servants  went  free.  He  saw  her  spending  herself 
in  an  infinite  number  of  capacities,  as  maid,  trained  nurse, 
secretary,  dressmaker,  milliner  —  or,  when  a  fourth  lady 
failed  to  appear,  he  saw  her  come  down  to  dinner  in  a  made- 

[364] 


SMAGG   IN  APOGEE 


over  gown  of  her  rich  aunt's,  which  did  not  spare  her  youth 
and  shadowed  her  freshness  —  a  strange,  timid  creature, 
drowning  in  a  sea  of  affluent  success.  He  saw  how,  every 
time  a  man  made  bold  to  speak  to  her,  the  whole  family 
listened  with  eager  ears,  and  five  minutes  afterwards  tore 
out  of  her  heart  the  secret  of  his  attention.  Fie  saw  her  in 
her  isolation,  with  not  an  evening  to  herself,  with  the 
impossibility  of  making  friends,  taking  tea  and  desperate 
chances  with  personable  young  men  in  clandestine  rendez 
vous  when  she  was  supposed  to  be  shopping.  Truly,  it 
had  no  tendency  to  teach  her  to  be  truthful,  this  regime  ; 
her  one  object  in  life,  he  discovered,  was  to  deceive  her 
employer.  Employer  ?  Never  that,  of  course  !  Did  she 
not  have  presents  of  her  rich  aunt's  old  hats  —  black  things 
with  little  stick-ups  in  them  ?  Did  not  her  rich  aunt  instruct 
her  how  to  wear  her  hair  in  a  prim,  old-fashioned,  incon 
spicuous  manner,  so  as  to  be  uncompromisingly  labeled  as 
dependent  ? 

From  such  as  these,  in  stolen  interviews,  he  learned  much 
of  life,  and  wondered  at  this  sacrifice  of  virgins.  Why, 
down  on  Delancey  Street  where  he  had  lived,  the  working 
girls  had  a  Settlement  House,  where  amiable  young  social 
istic  millionaires  met  them  on  terms  of  equality,  took  them 
out  riding,  gave  them  the  best  of  modern  culture  !  Here 
celebrated  authors  and  foreign  statesmen  came,  till  the  girls 
were  surfeited  with  opportunity.  Here  the  best  music  was 
played,  select  clubs  were  established,  motor  cars  could  be 
had  free  for  Sundays,  and  excursions  were  planned  for  every 
holiday.  He  told  these  poor  companions  about  it,  and 
urged  them  to  emigrate  to  the  slums,  where  they  could  be 
sure  of  every  social  advantage  and  an  occasional  evening  off 
for  diversion  —  amateur  theatricals  trained  by  New  York's 

[  365 1 


LADT   MECHANTE 


cleverest  young  men,  and  lectures  on  Fridays  by  the  world- 
famous.  But  ever  they  hugged  the  delusion  of  caste,  and 
dwelt  purblind  in  their  slavery. 

Once  started,  he  went  faster  and  faster.  He  roamed 
hungrily  from  one  art  to  another,  all  that  was  primitive  in 
him  rejoicing  in  all  that  was  modern.  Herein  lay  no  para 
dox,  for  Smagg  had  but  to  look  upward  and  see  modernity 
over  his  head.  The  cycle  of  culture  in  its  spiral  rise  had 
completed  the  circle,  and  had  returned  to  view  from  a 
higher  altitude  the  clean-cut  truths  which  had,  at  the  begin 
ning  of  the  helix,  inspired  the  primal  man. 

"  Architecture  !  "  said  Smagg,  one  day,  looking  up  from 
Lady  Mechanic's  photographs  and  engravings,  after  listen 
ing  to  her  lecture,  "  there  's  been  no  such  thing  since  that 
first  drunk  and  disorderly  Dago  tripped  over  a  smashed 
Corinthian  capital  and  saw  it  for  the  first  time  after  he  and 
the  rest  of  'em  had  been  messing  around  it  for  a  thousand 
years.  That  there  Renaissance  you  been  talking  about  was 
nothing  but  a  surgical  operation  for  the  emasculation  of 
thought,  the  first  idiot  '  correspondence  school '  for  the 
suppression  of  intellect.  Fenestrations  and  ratios  !  Men 
were  so  crazy  about  their  foot-rulers  they  'd  rather  measure 
an  old  cornice  than  figure  out  a  new  groined  arch.  They  've 
been  playing  a  game  of  dominoes  ever  since,  with  every 
third  counter  a  double-blank  !  It  took  brains  and  blood 
to  build  Karnak  and  the  Parthenon  and  St.  Mark's  and 
Durham  and  Chartres  !  But  these  modern  monkeys  are 
only  working  out  puzzle-pictures  for  fools,  and  when  they 
get  the  chopped-up  bits  of  "  Columbus  Crossing  the 
Delaware"  or  "Washington  Discovering  America"  they 
expect  me  to  yelp  !  A  man  would  think  the  Parthenon 
had  gone  wrong  and  come  over  and  littered  all  over  Man- 


SM4GG   IN  APOGEE 


hattan  !  Greek  temples  for  bun-shops,  Greek  temples  for 
Subway-entrances,  and  Greek  temples  for  garages  !  Judg 
ing  from  the  Pennsylvania  Station,  how  far  have  we  ad 
vanced  from  the  Taj  Mahal  ?  Is  the  Singer  Building 
better  than  the  Doge's  palace  ?  And  how  about  that  bum 
Cathedral,  that  garbage  box  with  the  badly  foozled  ap 
proach  ?  Is  it  up  to  the  standard  of  any  little  old  parish 
church  in  England  ? 

"  Oh,  I  've  been  talking  with  these  architect-chaps  who 
think  on  a  scale  of  one-sixteenth-of-an-inch-to-the-foot,  and 
I  know  what 's  wrong.  There  's  a  bucket-shop  called  the 
Ecole  des  Beaux-Arts  over  in  Paris  where  the  little  Yankee 
kids  go  and  give  up  the  last  bit  of  small  change  of  feeling 
they  have,  and  they  get  in  return  a  bunch  of  stock-certifi 
cates  in  a  bum  gold-brick  mine  that  was  played  out  before 
it  was  ever  dug,  and  is  now  nothing  but  a  rive  gauche 
Rathskeller  where  the  menu  is  hash,  sausage,  and  dope. 
Then  they  chest  themselves  back  over  the  Atlantic,  and 
the  hayseeds  of  high-life  gurgle,  l  Oh,  ain't  them  colyums 
and  consoles  and  cartouches  elegant  ! '  That  's  all  they 
get —  a  Parisian  version  of  a  Renaissance  misunderstanding 
of  a  Roman  translation  of  the  original  Greek  !  Gawd  ! 
every  time  I  see  an  Ionic  column  I  know  it 's  a  vulgar 
gravestone  in  memory  of  the  unknown  dead.  Yes,  I  know 
they  's  a  few  men  trying  to  do  Gothic,  though  they  ain't 
got  Gothic  minds.  Well,  they  're  butchering  a  real  style, 
anyway ;  and  they  're  to  be  pitied,  because  they  know 
right  from  wrong.  But  these  academic  asses,  I  envy  'em. 
They  don't  even  know  there  is  any  such  thing  as  right !  : 

In  music,  also,  he  dared  to  walk  without  a  guide.  An 
evening  at  the  Chinese  theater  set  him  a-wondering. 
"  What 's  everybody  so  afraid  of  discords  for  ?  "  he  asked 

[367] 


LADY   MECHANTE 


afterwards.  u  They  're  all  slaves  to  the  old  forms  and  the 
old  intervals.  What  difference  does  it  make  if  G  flat 
vibrates  thirty-two  thousand  times  a  second  and  A  sharp 
forty-one  thousand,  or  whatever  it  is  ?  You  can  prove 
there's  a  mathematical  ratio  that's  what  we  call  harmony, 
but  you  can't  prove  some  other  ratio  won't  give  some 
other  kind  of  a  psychological  effect,  can  you  ?  Why 
ain't  the  interval  of  a  fourth  as  good  as  that  of  a  fifth 
or  a  third  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  been  tried,"  said  Lady  Mechante.  "Grieg 
used  it ;  so  did  Tschaikowsky  and  Dvorak.  But  it  was  a 
sort  of  compromise  ;  they  did  n't  dare  trust  new  harmonies 
as  the  modern  Frenchmen  have.  Listen  to  this !  "  and 
she  sat  down  to  the  piano  and  played  a  few  measures  of 
Debussy. 

"  What  d'  you  think  of  it?"  she  asked,  watching  him 
queerly. 

Smagg's  gaze  roved.  He  put  his  hand  to  his  head,  puz 
zled.  "  It  makes  me  feel  funny,"  he  said,  at  last.  "  I 
never  heard  anything  before  that  made  me  feel  so  queer. 
It  reminds  me  of  something.  And,  somehow,  I  can  seem 
to  hear  notes  you  don't  play  at  all.  Plow  is  that  ?  " 

"  I  believe  you  hear  the  overtones !  "  she  cried,  and  she 
explained  the  theory  of  vibrations  to  him. 

"  That 's  it  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  That  fellow  's  got  the 
idea.  The  reason  why  most  people  can't  understand  it  is 
because  their  ears  are  wrong.  They  're  so  used  to  the 
we'll-known  intervals  they  can't  catch  anything  new.  I  've 
heard  tell  that  there  's  some  insect  notes  so  high  we  can't 
hear  'em.  Well,  there  can  be  some  kind  of  harmonies  so 
new  and  subtle  we  can't  understand  'em,  can't  there  ?  " 

Lady  Mechante  played  on,  softly  and  dreamily.  "  How 
[368] 


SMAGG   IN  APOGEE 


can  I  tell  what  you  may  hear,  O  cave  man  ?  "  she  mur 
mured.  u  We  have  gone  back  ;  civilization  has  robbed  us 
of  our  pristine  sense  of  smell  —  we  can  no  longer  scent  our 
friends  and  enemies — -it  has  robbed  us  of  our  ears,  too  — 
once  we  lived  in  the  woods  — •  we  listened  for  the  tiniest 
sounds  —  we  heard  things  that  are  now  imperceptible  to 
our  auditory  nerves  —  we  heard,  perhaps,  all  overtones  — 
we  have  lost  our  ears  !  —  have  not  Strauss  and  Debussy 
found  them  for  us,  —  and  you,  O  Troglodyte  ? "  She 
finished  her  Pelleas. 

"  What 's  them  black  keys  for  ?  "   asked  Smagg. 

She  explained  the  diatonic  scale. 

u  But  why  does  there  have  to  be  half  tones  between 
three  and  four  and  seven  and  eight  ?  Why  can't  you  go 
up,  a  whole  tone  at  a  time  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  "  She  jumped  up  and  nearly  kissed  him  ;  not 
quite.  u  You  can!"  she  exclaimed.  Then  she  played  a 
queer  old  rune,  an  ancient  Greek  chorus,  and  Smagg's 
eyes  opened  wide.  She  repeated,  by  ear,  the  Chinese  song 
he  had  heard.  She  hummed  a  primordial  chant,  thousands 
of  years  old. 

"  There  !  I  knew  it  !  "  she  said.  u  Yours  is  the  penta- 
tonic  scale  ;  like  Strauss,  you  know  its  mysterious  harmo 
nies,  which  men  call  dissonance  !  How  else  could  it  be  but 
that  you  should  comprehend  the  most  ancient  and  the  most 
modern  of  music  !  " 

"There's  one  queer  thing  about  it,"  said  Smagg.  "I 
like  it,  but  I  can't  hear  it  !  When  you  play  something  I 
like,  it  makes  me  feel  funny.  I  forget  to  think.  I  go  off 
like  in  a  dream,  and  so  I  don't  hear  it  at  all.  But  when 
you  play  anything  cheap,  I  hear  it  all  right,  but  it  makes 
me  itch  !  " 

H  [  369  ] 


LADY   MECHANTE 


"There's  the  tragedy  of  music,"  said  Lady  Mcchante. 
"  She  's  so  beautiful  that  she  's  invisible  !  Lucky  for  you 
you  're  not  a  technician  and  don't  understand  the  mathe 
matics  of  the  science.  I  envy  you  !  " 

u  Well,"  said  Smagg,  gripping  his  chin  in  his  fist,  "I  'd 
like  to  try  writing  some  of  that  stuff,  all  the  same.  I 
believe  I  could  show  that  French  chap  a  thing  or  two  !  " 

Lady  Mechanic  was  one,  at  least,  who  quite  believed 
him  capable  of  it. 

Before  he  had  turned  his  third  corner  Lady  Mechante 
had,  in  an  idle  moment,  planned  for  him  a  literary  career. 
She  knew  what  marvelous  chances  the  beginner  had  in 
America;  how  often,  while  the  work  of  old  established 
writers  was  rejected,  the  first  sign  of  a  new  writer  from 
Ypsilanti  or  Barriboo  would  be  hailed  with  wild  acclaim 
by  the  editors.  The  manuscript  might  be  rejected,  but 
the  author  would  be  welcomed  with  complimentary  letters 
requesting  the  sight  of  all  future  work  ;  and,  if  the  second 
contribution  were  tolerable,  special  envoys,  literary  confi 
dence  men,  were  sent  out  to  lunch  and  dine  the  new-born 
celebrity.  Blurbed  into  a  moment's  scintillating  fame,  how 
many  a  young  star  she  had  seen  rise,  glitter,  and  fall  back 
into  the  dark  to  perish  in  the  black  unknown  !  How  many 
prize-winners  had  been  discovered,  touted,  and  left  by  the 
wayside  ! 

She  had  even  blocked  out  for  him  a  series  of  stories  that 
should  begin  his  career  —  little  masterpieces  of  originality 
and  unconventionally.  There  was  one  for  Macaloor's  about 
a  heroic  brakeman  who  climbed  over  the  tender,  half  burned 
to  death  in  a  forest  fire,  and  rescued  the  engineer,  —  a  u  sin 
cere  "  tale.  There  was  the  story  of  a  coward  whose  physi- 

[37°] 


SMAGG    IN  APOGEE 


cal  fear  was  adroitly  contrasted  with  his  spiritual  courage. 
This  was  "convincing."  There  was  a  football  story,  for 
a  November  number,  in  which  the  despised  Freshman  in 
spired  by  a  pretty  co-ed,  scored  a  touchdown  for  his  eleven. 
There  was  a  story  of  very  poor  whites  who  spoke  unintelligi 
ble  dialect,  one  of  a  tender-hearted  cowboy  with  red  hair. 
There  was  a  story  of  a  picturesque  lover,  versus  a  practical 
husband,  in  which  the  heroine  was  referred  to  as  the  Beauti 
ful  Lady.  There  was  the  story  of  a  "cub"  reporter,  who 
achieved  a  "  scoop,"  with  much  local  color  ("  copy 
readers,"  "city  desks,"  "flimsies,"  and  so  on).  There 
was  the  story  of  a  homely  girl,  who  being  (as  they  always 
are)  kind  and  tactful,  won  over  a  pretty,  feather-headed 
rival.  There  was  a  Christmas  story  where  Somebody 
Came  Back.  Animal  stories,  of  fleas  and  mosquitoes 
conversing  together.  Story  of  an  Under  Dog.  How 
the  Old  Automobile  won  the  Race.  Story  of  an  im 
possibly  precocious  and  sentimental  child  —  and  so  on. 
In  all  these  she  used  for  a  title  the  Inverted  Possessive 
dear  to  the  editor's  soul,  usually  the  "  Rehabilitation  of 
Somebody." 

These  rough  sketches  she  had  cast  aside  for  poetry  ;  for, 
while  he  was  but  partly  evolved,  it  pleased  her  fancy  to 
speculate  upon  the  kind  of  verse  he  would  be  likely  to 
indite. 

Long  afterwards  she  picked  a  manuscript  out  of  a  pigeon 
hole  of  her  escritoire  and  showed  it  to  him. 

"  Here  !  "  she  said.  "  This  is  what  I  was  going  to  have 
you  pull  out  of  your  inside  pocket  some  night  at  Highbrow 
Hall.  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  Would  you  have  been 
proud  to  acknowledge  the  authorship  ?  "  She  read  it  to 
him,  mimicking  his  smaggish  manner  : 

[371] 


LADY  MECHANTE 


"Blood  of  the  meat  — 

Soul  of  the  flesh,  striving  in  sinew  and  gristle, 

Burrowing  bone, 

Lusty  in  fatherhood,  riotous  giver  of  life  — 

Crassly  I  crunch  at  the  corpse, 

Drinking  its  force, 

Robbing  the  strength  of  the  beast  ! 

Lo,  thou  hast  pilfered  the  grasses, 

Soul  of  their  flesh  ! 

Lo,  they  have  sifted  the  rocks 

To  capture  the  spirit  of  Life ! 

Dwell  in  my  carcass  and  build  it, 

Ere  in  the  round  of  thy  going 

Back  to  the  earth  that  hath  whelped  me, 

Little  and  weak, 

Thin  through  the  leaf  and  the  stalk, 

Thou  climbest  thy  path  to  fulfillment." 

Smagg  scrowlcd,  reached  for  it,  and  looked  it  over.  Then 
he  pointed  to  a  word.  u  I  never  would  have  said  '  capture/  ' 

Lady  Mechante  shrieked.  "  That  's  a  fact.  Of  course 
you  v/ould  n't.  Bless  your  big  Anglo-Saxon  heart !  I  be 
lieve  you  've  picked  out  the  only  Latin  word  in  the  poem. 
I  would  like  to  see  what  you  would  write  now  if  you  tried." 
Smagg  in  his  orbit  was  at  this  time  rounding  the  focus  of 
its  parabola. 

He  gloomed  for  a  while,  then  paced  the  floor  heavily. 
He  stopped  suddenly  once  or  twice,  glared  at  her  and  went 
on.  He  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out,  rubbed  his 
nose  against  the  pane,  then  thoughtfully  inspected  the 
grease  spot  on  the  glass.  He  snapped  his  fingers  and 
came  back,  stopped  and  tapped  his  toes  and  scowled  again. 
He  exhibited,  in  short,  all  the  tricks  and  manners  of  a  minor 
poet  absorbed  in  composition. 


SMAGG   IN  APOGEE 


Lady  Mechanic  watched  him  with  infinite  amusement. 
"  Can  you  do  it  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Did  you  catch  a  sight  of 
your  muse  out  of  the  window  ?  " 

He  shoved  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  his  soul  shot  out 
of  his  eyes,  terrible. 

"  How  can  I  do  it  ?  "  he  demanded.  u  How  can  any 
body  do  it  that 's  decent  ?  Poetry  is  the  language  of 
feeling,  ain't  it  ?  You  can't  put  it  into  words.  Even 
them  pictures  of  mine  don't  put  it  into  words ;  no 
more  does  music.  Nobody  means  what  they  say  when 
they  write  lyrics  ;  if  they  did,  they  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  themselves.  When  you  have  a  feeling  that  's  poetic, 
it 's  like  having  a  woman  you  're  in  love  with.  No 
man  as  is  a  man  wants  to  go  to  work  and  expose  it  for 
everybody  to  stare  at.  If  a  poet  come  to  see  me,  I  'd 
kick  him  downstairs  and  then  go  and  wipe  my  shoes  on 
the  mat ! 

"  All  the  same,"  he  continued,  "  I  '11  give  it  to  you  if 
you  want  to  hear  it;  but  you  understand  this  is  something 
sacred  and  holy;  it's  a  part  of  the  mystery  of  my  own 
being ;  it 's  like  a  love-letter,  I  expect ;  it 's  the  sort  of 
thing  one  does  n't  confess. 

"  My  shirt  is  sticky  and  clings  to  my  back, 

Gawd,  my  Gawd,  but  I  'd  like  to  cry  ! 
I  got  up  at  night  and  stepped  on  a  tack, 
Gawd,  but  I  want  to  die  ! 


I  got  some  ink  under  my  thumb-nail, 

Gawd,  my  Gawd,  but  I'd  like  to  cry  ! 

I  had  to  laugh  at  a  thrice-told  tale, 
Gawd,  but  I  want  to  die  ! 

[373] 


LADY   MECHANTE 


"  I  got  my  hair  all  covered  with  glue, 

Gawd,  my  Gawd,  but  I  'd  like  to  cry  ! 
I  wiped  my  face  on  a  towel  new, 
Gawd,  but  I  want  to  die! 

"  I  seen  a  guy  with  a  light  blue  scarf, 

Gawd,  my  Gawd,  but  I  'd  like  to  cry  ! 
And  a  pretty  girl  with  a  horrid  laugh 
Gawd,  but  I  want  to  die  !  " 

"Ah,  I  see,"  said  Lady  Mechante,  the  tears  in  her  eyes. 
"  It  's  wonderfully  beautiful.  You  are  right.  These  are 
quite  the  things  a  delicate  person  hesitates  to  confess. 
And  rhythmic,  of  course.  That 's  where  I  failed.  I  for 
got  that  all  prehistoric  poetry  is  rhythmic.  In  yours  I  hear 
the  cadenced  rune  of  the  ancient  tribal  dances.  I  can 
almost  hear  the  tomtoms  and  see  the  naked  forms  in  the 
firelight.  I  should  have  known  you  would  be  atavistic." 

u  Say,"  Smagg  exclaimed  suddenly,  "what  do  you  think 
old  lady  Van  Dream  told  me  today  ?  Said  she  wanted  me 
to  marry  Dolly." 

Lady  Mechante  jumped  up.      "  Not  really  ?  " 

What  was  there  in  her  look  now  that  had  not  been 
there  before  ?  Something  slumbering  awoke.  Her  breath 
came  quickly. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  said,  '  Not  much  ! '  or,  leastways,  I  'd  think  it  over. 
What  I  meant  was,  I  'd  ask  you.  What  do  you  think  ? " 

"  What  do  you  think  ?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 

"Oh,  she's  got  money  and  plenty  of  hair  —  that's  the 
main  thing.  But  I  rather  prefer  the  old  lady,  myself. 
More  to  her.  Besides,  she  's  on  to  things.  Dolly  might 
do  —  so  long  as  I  could  n't  possibly  —  I  mean,  of  course — 

[374] 


SMAGG   IN  APOGEE 


"  What  ever  do  you  mean  ?  "   said  Lady  Mechante. 

Smagg  walked  off  to  the  window  again,  found  the  grease 
spot  still  there  on  the  pane,  and  gazed  at  it  morosely. 
"  I  don't  know  what  I  do  mean  ;  only  sometimes  I  feel 
funny." 

She  watched  him  through  half-closed  lids,  then  turned 
away,  and  sighed.  "  I  expect  you  had  better  marry  her, 
Haulick,"  she  said  decidedly.  Her  lips  closed  tightly. 

"  All  right,"  said  Haulick,  gloomily.  "  I  '11  propose  to 
her  tomorrow." 

He%did  propose  on  the  morrow,  heavy-heartedly  enough, 
but  with  sufficient  unction  to  impress  Miss  Van  Dream, 
who,  warned  by  her  mother,  had  lain  awake  half  the  night 
wondering  what  she  should  say  to  him.  What  she  did  say 
was  merely  that  she  wanted  time.  She  was  n't  ready  yet  to 
decide  so  important  a  question.  Little  Emily,  she  knew, 
would  have  snapped  him  up  in  a  minute.  Almost  every 
other  girl  in  her  set  would,  smaggery  or  no  smaggery. 
That  was  in  itself,  she  admitted,  good  reason  for  taking 
him.  She  began  to  feel  the  man  himself,  now,  more 
strongly  than  his  art ;  but  there  was  something  too  clever 
about  him.  There  was  no  knowing  where  such  a  cat 
would  jump. 

So  Smagg  went  away,  not  too  disheartened  at  being  put 
off. 

He  had  hardly  gone  before  James,  the  footman,  appeared 
to  remove  the  tea  things.  He  had  been  in  and  out  during 
the  whole  interview  and,  as  Dolly  Van  Dream,  with 
characteristic  aplomb,  had  ignored  his  presence  as  a  human 
being,  he  had  heard  the  entire  conversation  through  with 
imperturbable  gravity.  Smagg's  one  failing  had  always 

[375] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


been  a  fear  of  servants — public  waiters  excepted  —and  he 
would  have  become  awkwardly  embarrassed  had  his  pro 
posal  been  more  enthusiastic.  But  Smagg  had  been  plunged 
in  turgid  thoughts,  of  which  the  reader  is  supposed  to  know 
nothing.  James  had  waited  a  decent  interval  after  this 
tender  episode,  and  now  laid  his  tray  on  the  table  and 
approached  his  mistress  with  a  sentimental  expression  upon 
the  face  which  so  long  had  been  masked  in  sobriety. 

"  I  'd  like  to  speak  to  you,  Miss  Van  Dream,  if  I  might 
be  so  bold,"  he  said. 

Dolly  raised  her  eyebrows  and  regarded  him  with  sur 
prise.  "  Why,  what  is  it,  James  ?  Have  you  anything  to 
complain  of?  Aren't  they  giving  you  real  cream  in  your 
coffee,  or  what  is  it  ?  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  tell  me 
you  want  to  marry  one  of  the  maids." 

u  No,  Miss  Van  Dream,  it 's  not  one  of  the  maids  I  wish 
to  marry.  It 's  you^  if  you  don't  mind  me  saying  of  it." 

"James,  I  hope  you  have  n't  been  helping  yourself  to 
the  brandy  !  I  gave  strict  orders  that  it  was  to  be  kept 
locked  up." 

James  shook  his  head.  "No,  Miss  Van  Dream.  It 
is  n't  the  brandy.  If  I  'm  intoxicated,  it 's  you  that 's  done 
it,  in  a  way  of  speaking." 

How  he  restrained  himself!  How  hard  he  strived  to 
copy  the  manner  of  the  best  English  servants  as  depicted 
in  the  best  society  novels  !  He  longed  to  lapse  into 
dialect,  to  say  "  mem,"  and  to  drop  his  "  //s,"  but  he  was 
not  yet  sure  of  the  proper  idiom  and  accent.  He  did  his 
best  with  the  few  of  Hallroom's  novels  he  had  been  able 
to  read. 

"  I  don't  think  you  quite  know  what  you  are  saying, 
James,"  said  Dolly,  rising  and  looking  about  her  uneasily. 

[376] 


SMAGG   IN   APOGEE 


"  I  do  know  what  I  'm  saying,  Miss  Van  Dream,  if  you 
please,  for  I  have  said  it  often  enough  to  myself.  I  have 
been  in  this  house  and  in  your  service,  man  and  boy,  for 
two  weeks  ;  and  it  was  a  long,  long  time  before  I  could 
make  bold  to  tell  you  about  it.  But  I  love  you,  Miss 
Van  Dream,  and,  if  you  would  be  contented  to  marry  a 
poor  man,  so  far  beneath  you,  I  can  offer  you  a  heart,  Miss 
Van  Dream,  that  has  as  much  devotion  as  you  have 
dollars.  I  am  afraid  I  can't  put  it  very  well  to  the  likes 
of  you,  but  I  Ve  heard  tell  you  're  a  Socialist,  and  I  went 
and  joined  the  Party  so  's  to  be  able  to  call  you  '  comrade ' 
without  being  accuged  of  disrespect.  It 's  on  the  plane  of 
our  common  humanity  and  the  cause  of  Labor  that  I  ap 
peal  to  you,  Miss  Van  Dream  —  I  beg  your  pardon  — 
comrade  !  " 

Dolly  had  listened  at  first  with  amusement,  then  with 
increasing  impatience  to  scornful  fury.  She  was  about  to 
order  him  out  of  the  room  when  the  first  word  of  his  final 
period  caused  her  to  stop  and  tremble.  Her  hand  flew  to 
her  heart.  Dollv,  the  last  two  weeks,  had  become  as  fiery 
a  little  Socialist  as  ever  spoke  on  a  street  corner.  True, 
she  never  had  spoken  on  a  street  corner,  for  her  comrades 
were  theorists  of  the  parlor  variety,  who  had  taken  it  up  in 
a  dreamy  sort  of  way,  mainly  on  account  of  Bernard  Shaw. 
Even  thus,  however,  there  was  magic  in  the  name  "  com 
rade,"  and  she  dared  not  consider  herself  insulted. 

"You're  quite  right,  of  course,  in  speaking  to  me, 
Comrade  James,  and  your  sentiments  do  you  honor.  I 
know  I  am  thoroughly  fascinating,  and  it  's  no  wonder  that 
you  could  n't  stand  the  strain  for  long.  I  'm  not  surprised 
that  you  have  broken  down  under  it.  Tn  fact,  I  've 
noticed  for  several  days  that  your  manner  had  changed. 

[377] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


You  winked  quite  conspicuously  yesterday  as  you  passed 
the  fish.  Mamma  noticed  it  and  thought  you  were  ill.  So 
I  think,  on  the  whole,  you  'd  better  change  your  work  for 
something  out  of  doors,  where  I  won't  trouble  you  so 
much.  Can  you  do  anything  else  but  footmanship  ?  " 

"  I  can  drive  an  automobile,"  said  James,  hanging  his 
head. 

u  Very  well,  then,  I  '11  see  about  making  you  a  chauffeur. 
That  Frenchman  we  've  had  eloped  last  night  with  my 
Aunt  Harriet,  as  you  may  have  heard.  If  you  '11  promise 
not  to  elope,  James  —  Comrade  James,  I  beg  your  pardon 
—  I  '11  see  that  you  are  installed.  But  you  must  live  in 
the  coach  house,  and  you  must  n't  expect  any  increase  in 
wages." 

James  took  up  his  tray,  placed  on  it  a  plate  of  nibbled 
tea-cakes,  and  walked  out  of  the  room,  his  shattered  hopes 
torturing  his  breast. 


[378] 


Chapter  J^tne 

NEW    WORLDS    FOR    OLD 

Though  she  have  heavenly  gifts,  virtue  and  beauty, 
Is  she  not  earthly  metal,  fesh  and  blood? 

(Campaspe.) 

HAT  was  the  matter  with  Smagg  ?  Still 
he  pursued  his  social  orbit  with  increasing 
splendor,  pursued  breathlessly  by  a  comet's 
tail  of  debutantes,  widowettes,  and  marrying 
mammas.  Still  in  the  studios  the  prosely 
tizing  for  Smagg's  new  order  of  art  went 
on.  He  was  called  "  the  Master  "  by  many  of  the  younger 
female  art  students  at  the  League.  True,  their  attempts 
at  imitation  could  be  received  at  no  regular  salon,  but  an 
independent  exhibition  had  been  held,  producing  a  surfeit 
of  smaggery.  In  both  these  worlds,  Dolly  Van  Dream 
followed  him,  still  unable  to  make  up  her  mind,  still  un 
able  to  distinguish  between  the  genius  and  the  man. 

But  of  late  she  thought  she  noticed  a  slight  recrudescence 
of  his  smaggery.  At  one  time  it  was  nothing  more  than 
the  production  of  a  red  bandanna  handkerchief;  at  another 
it  was  the  omission  of  the  handkerchief  altogether  after  a 
particularly  violent  sneeze.  Smagg,  by  this  time,  was  a 
sufficiently  important  figure  to  be  able  to  do  pretty  much 
what  he  liked,  but  what  he  liked  to  do  was  singularly 
reminiscent  of  his  earlier  smaggishness,  with  the  difference 
that,  nowadays,  he  seemed  to  do  it  consciously  and  with 

[379] 


LADY   MECHANTE 


defiance.  Of  this  attitude,  one  of  his  early  gaucberles  was 
symbolic.  He  not  only  upset  his  cup  on  the  floor,  but  he 
stamped  viciously  on  the  fragments.  There  was  that  same 
vicious  note  in  his  present  mental  state.  He  rubbed  things 
in.  She  wondered  what  it  meant. 

She  followed  his  progress  from  call  to  call,  to  theaters, 
teas,  receptions,  house  parties,  and  noticed  that  he  seemed 
more  and  more  sullen ;  his  badinage  often  frightened  the 
buds,  tough  as  they  had  become  by  the  end  of  the  season's 
dissipation.  The  young  married  women,  inured  to  the 
persistent  attacks  of  male  flirts  (fair  game,  now  they  were' 
wedded,  for  all  sorts  of  surreptitious  amorous  annoyance), 
found  Smagg  a  terror  in  quite  a  new  way.  His  mockery 
of  the  matrons,  his  derision  of  the  dowagers,  had  become 
blatant,  almost  offensive.  People  said  he  was  spoiled,  but 
Dolly  knew  better.  Some  yeast  was  working  in  his  brain. 

u  Do  you  know,  you  have  n't  paid  your  dinner  call  on 
Mrs.  Pendulous  yet?"  she  said  to  him  one  day.  "It's 
two  weeks  since  you  were  there." 

"What  do  I  want  'to  go  there  for?"  said  Smagg. 
"  The  dinner  was  bad  enough,  let  alone  calling  again." 

"  But  you  have  to  go,"  Dolly  insisted. 

"  Why,  if  I  don't  want  to  ?  " 

"  Because  it 's  the  thing  to  do.  You  must  pay  your 
social  debts." 

"  But  she  invited  me  herself.  I  did  n't  want  to  go, 
anyway.  She  ought  to  call  on  me  f  " 

tc  Oh,  we  all  have  to  do  a  great  many  things  we  don't 
want  to  do." 

He  thought  about  it  sulkily.  "  1  don't  see  the  good  of 
being  in  society,  then,"  he  grumbled. 

"  I  think  I  'm  very  lucky  to  be  able  to  get  down  to  my 

[380] 


NEW   WORLDS   FOR    OLD 


studio  twice  a  week,"  Dolly  went  on.  u  I  'm  fearfully 
behind  on  my  calls  now,  and  I  've  got  to  give  at  least  six 
more  dinners  and  two  big  receptions  to  even  up  my  score. 
I  think  you  ought  to  consider  yourself  fortunate." 

"  You  '11  be  saying  I  Ve  got  to  go  to  Emily's  theater 
party,  next,  and  sit  around  for  three  hours  in  the  back  of 
the  box  when  I  want  to  be  home  in  bed." 

"  Well,  if  you  keep  it  up  as  well  as  you  have  you  '11 
soon  get  to  the  point  where  you  '11  be  invited  to  everything 
and  won't  have  to  go  to  anything,  and  that 's  the  goal  we 
all  hope  to  reach  in  time." 

u  I  don't  see  the  fun  in  being  invited  to  things  you  don't 
want  to  go  to.  Sounds  like  nonsense  to  me." 

If  Dolly  was  puzzled  at  these  symptoms  of  Smagg's 
uneasiness,  Lady  Me'chante  was  more  so.  When  he  was 
with  her,  however,  Smagg's  demeanor  took  another  air. 
She  was  almost  frightened  at  times,  and  in  her  encounters 
she  needed  every  art  and  ruse  with  which  that  fantastic 
lady  was  familiar.  He  would  stop  suddenly  and  glower 
upon  her,  showing  his  teeth  under  his  tense  upper  lip.  At 
times  she  almost  expected  this  reconstructed  cave  man  to 
drag  her  off  by  the  hair  of  her  head  to  his  lair.  In  point 
of  fact,  he  did  grab  her  by  the  wrist  savagely  enough  once  ; 
but  then  the  lady's  eyes  were  stilettos,  and  he  cowered  and 
apologized.  She  had  to  acknowledge  that  he  was  more 
and  more  difficult  to  cope  with,  like  a  kitten  grown  into  a 
wild-cat.  Success  had  given  him  confidence.  Was  the 
distance  lessening  between  them  ?  she  thought.  Was  she, 
at  the  top  of  the  spiral,  now  in  closer  proximity  than  ever 
to  Smagg  at  the  bottom,  one  whole  round  of  the  circle 
behind  her  ?  Strangely  they  had  thrilled  to  the  same 


LADY  MECHANTE 


themes,  he  the  barbarian,  she  effete.  What  he  had  looked 
up  to  she  had  looked  down  upon,  but  now  at  times  she 
seemed  to  meet  his  gaze  full  on  the  level.  How  long 
would  her  brains  be  a  match  for  his  brute  strength  and 
will  ? 

He  came  and  went  now,  his  own  master.  Once  or 
twice  he  had  even  offered  her  advice  —  her,  Lady  Me- 
chante,  who  had  played  with  cities,  with  societies,  with 
religions,  in  her  time;  whose  touch  was  magic,  whose 
fancy  was  immortal  !  She  had  had  a  queer,  numb  feeling 
when  he  had  offered  that  advice.  What  if  he  gave  her  his 
orders  ?  What  if  he  forced  her  will  ?  Already  she  seemed 
to  hear  a  warning,  like  the  music  of  a  rattlesnake's  tail.  •  It 
made  her  numb,  indeed,  but  it  awoke  a  strange,  outrageous 
delight  in  her  which  she  had  never  known  before. 

It  was  well  into  May  when  Lady  Mechante  drove  up  to 
the  Van  Dreams'  in  her  Pancake  to  have  a  talk  with  Dolly 
and  see  how  far  she  had  noticed  the  change.  On  the  pave 
ment  she  found  the  new  chauffeur  at  the  wheel  of  the  tre 
mendous  yellow  limousine  car  of  the  Van  Dreams.  At 
first  she  did  not  know  him  in  his  leathern  uniform,  but 
when  she  recognized  him  she  went  up  immediately  to 
ascertain  the  cause. 

Wrestling  Brewster  Bradford,  too,  had  changed.  He 
told  her  of  his  proposal.  "  And,  do  you  know,"  he  said, 
"on  thinking  it  over,  I'm  sure  I  should  n't  have  liked  it  at 
all  if  she  had  accepted  me  as  a  footman.  Why,  I  would  have 
distrusted  every  servant  I  ever  had,  once  I  was  married  to  her. 
No,  I  selfishly  wanted  her  to  like  me  for  myself  alone, 
and  I  'm  now  thoroughly  ashamed  of  it.  I  owe  a  debt  to 
my  ancestry  and  have  no  right  to  leave  the  Scions  of  Shays' 

[382.] 


NEW   WORLDS   FOR    OLD 


Rebellion  out  of  the  question.  I  'm  as  much  a  Scion  as  I 
am  myself,  it  seems  to  me.  I  am  as  much  a  Descendant 
of  the  Survivors  of  the  Indian  Massacres  as  I  am  Wrestling 
Brewster  Bradford.  Have  n't  Elder  Brewster,  the  Pilgrim, 
and  Wrestling,  his  son,  any  respect  due  them  ?  What 
would  the  Colonial  Skirmishers  think  ?  Then,  again,  my 
sister  is  to  be  considered.  Would  she  want  her  brother 
accepted  as  a  footman  ?  The  fact  is,  it 's  all  horridly  com 
plicated  on  account  of  the  aristocracy  of  my  lineage.  I  've 
decided  to  wait  until.  I  've  got  all  the  material  necessary  for 
my  book  —  there  are  a  lot  of  secrets  in  the  Van  Dream 
family  that  I  have  n't  wormed  out  of  the  butler  yet,  —  then 
I'm  going  to  propose  to  her  as  a  gentleman.  I  suppose 
she  will  be  frightened  to  death,  but  I  '11  try  and  make  it  as 
easy  as  I  can  for  her.  She  never  will  be  a  Scion  of  Shays' 
Rebellion,  but  her  son  will  be." 

"  I  think  you  are  quite  right,"  said  Lady  Mechante, 
"but  I  hope  you  will  break  it  to  her  gently.  Can't  you 
begin  with  the  Mexican  War,  say,  and  work  gradually 
back  ?  I  would  n't  let  her  know  that  your  family  is  more 
than  two  or  three  generations  old,  at  first.  I  'd  be  very 
careful  how  I  approached  the  seventeenth  century,  if  I  were 
you,  and  be  sure  and  not  mention  the  Boston  Tea  Party 
until  she  is  thoroughly  prepared  for  the  shock.  When  you 
get  to  the  Plymouth  Colony,  I  beg  of  you,  go  slowly  and 
have  the  smelling-salts  ready.  I  'd  start  from  Boston  and 
work  my  way  down  the  Old  Massachusetts  Trail  along  the 
South  Shore.  When  you  get  to  the  Plymouth  Rock,  she  '11 
be  ready  for  the  worst." 

The  running  tremor  in  her  voice  died  out.  She  smiled 
saucily  and  ran  up  the  steps  of  the  chateau.  She  found 
Dolly  and  her  mother  talking  Lenox.  They  were  due  at 

[383] 


LADY  MECHANTE 


their  country  house,  a  spick  and  span  Tudor  pile  they 
called  "  Goldmere,"  early  next  week.  Smagg  had  already 
been  invited,  and  Lady  Mechante,  when  she  appeared,  was 
made  to  say  that  she  would  run  up  with  them  en  auto  on 
the  coming  Monday. 

"  I  see  you  have  a  new  chauffeur,"  said  she  who  was  still 
called  Mrs.  Hellysh.  "  Are  you  going  to  trust  yourself  to 
him  ?  He  does  n't  look  machiny  enough  to  me." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  he  's  remarkably  intelligent,"  said  Dolly, 
"  and  he  knows  his  place  perfectly." 

Mrs.  Van  Dream  put  in:  "  He  's  a  perfect  servant,  really. 
There  must  be  generations  of  footmen  and  butlers  behind 
him,  I  'm  sure.  It 's  written  all  over  him." 

So  the  party  was  arranged.  Lady  Me'chante,  after  an 
unsuccessful  attempt  to  probe  the  secrets  of  Dolly's  heart, 
went  home  to  make  her  preparations  for  the  trip. 

They  started  early  in  the  yellow  car,  with  Wrestling 
Brewster  Bradford  at  the  wheel.  Once  out  of  the  crowded 
streets,  Smagg's  face  seemed  to  grow  more  and  more  dis 
consolate  every  minute,  and  he ^ harangued  the  three  ladies 
gloomily. 

"  What  am  I  going  to  Lenox  for  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  I 
don't  want  to  go.  I  don't  believe  you  want  to  go  your 
selves.  It's  just  because  we  all  have  to  go,  ain't  it  ?" 

Lady  Mechante  spoke  up.  u  You  may  go  because  you 
have  to,  because  you  are  a  society  leader  and  a  lion  and  a 
Master.  Dolly  and  Mrs.  Van  Dream  have  to  go  because 
they  are  harnessed  into  the  chariot  and  can't  escape.  But 
I  don't  have  to  go  ;  I  don't  have  to  do  anything  I  don't 
want  to.  I  never  have  in  my  life  !  I  'm  going  because  I 
want  to  see  the  fun." 


NEW    WORLDS    FOR    OLD 


"What  fun  ?  "   said  Haulick  Smagg. 

"  The  fun  of  seeing  you  outside  of  New  York.  I  don't 
believe  you  've  ever  been  outside  of  the  city  before  in  your 
life." 

"No  more  have  I,"  he  said. 

"  Why,  how  absurd  !  "  Mrs.  Van  Dream  put  in. 
"  You  've  told  us  about  Marienbad  and  Monte  Carlo  and 
Versailles  and  the  Lido  times  enough.  Why,  I  've  seen 
your  trunks,  even  !  There  is  n't  a  single  foreign  hotel  label 
on  any  of  them.  That 's  enough  of  itself  to  prove  you 
know  the  Continent  thoroughly.  And  you  never  speak  a 
word  of  French  or  Italian,  either.  You  are  fibbing,  Mr. 
Smagg  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  've  known  a  lot  of  people  who  can  speak  French, 
although  they  've  lived  years  in  Paris,"  said  Dolly. 

"You  watch  him,"  said  Lady  Mechanic.  "Wait  till 
we  get  out  of  Bronx  Park." 

O 

They  did  watch  him,  but  through  a  plate  glass  window, 
for  Smagg,  announcing  that  he  was  tired  of  women,  and 
that  Mrs.  Van  Dream's  odor  of  Santal  made  him  sick,  rang 
the  electric  bell,  told  the  chauffeur  to  stop,  got  out,  banged 
the  door,  and  took  the  seat  beside  Bradford. 

They  had  gone  a  little  way  farther  when  a  trunk  dropped 
off  the  rear  of  the  car.  Smagg,  defying  the  chauffeur's  polite 
protest,  insisted  upon  getting  out  himself  to  lift  it  on  the 
rack.  The  trunk  had  fallen  in  a  pool  of  oily  tar,  which 
covered  the  road,  and  Smagg's  hands,  for  the  first  time  in  a 
mouth,  became  actually  dirty.  With  a  careless,  unconscious 
gesture  he  wiped  them  off  roughly  on  the  seat  of  his  light, 
pearl-colored  worsted  trousers.  He  climbed  into  the  front 
seat  again  and  began  to  bully  the  chauffeur,  urging  him  to  go 
faster  and  run  over  as  many  hens  as  possible.  He  tried  to 
*5  [385] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


induce  Bradford  to  let  him  take  the  wheel  himself,  but 
Br-ad ford's  eyes  grew  as  cold  as  steel. 

Within,  Lady  Me'chante's  glance  never  left  him.  Just 
this  side  of  Portchester  a  front  tire  blew  out  with  an  ex 
plosion  like  a  pistol  shot.  Bradford  did  not  decline  Smagg's 
aid  this  time,  and  the  two  of  them  worked  for  half  an  hour 
in  the  sun  with  a  refractory  shoe  before  it  was  clinched  and 
fastened  and  the  inner  tube  pumped  up.  Smagg  insisted 
upon  doing  most  of  the  hard  work,  and  by  the  time  the  job 
was  finished  the  knees  of  the  light  pearl  worsted  trousers 
aroused  Dolly  Van  Dream's  mirth.  Smagg  had  doffed  his 
coat  and  had  laid  it  on  the  asphalt.  When  he  put  it  on 
there  was  a  large  oily  X  on  the  small  of  its  back.  There 
was  oil,  also,  upon  Smagg's  arms  and  under  his  left 
eye  ;  his  hair  lacked  that  slick  assurance  of  arrangement 

'  O 

and  particularly  the  curl  that  Lady  Mechante  had  ever 
objected  to,  and  which  she  had  named  the  "  hoodlum 
twist." 

But  somehow  Smagg  himself  seemed  rejuvenated,  happier, 
and  more  buoyant.  The  terrific  oaths  which  had  caused 
Mrs.  Van  Dream  hurriedly  to  pull  up  the  sash  in  the  door 
had  ended.  Smagg  clapped  the  chauffeur  lustily  upon  the 
back  and  invited  him  to  a  saloon  just  visible  up  the  street. 
Wrestling  Brewster  Bradford,  looking  fearful  and  em 
barrassed,  accompanied  him.  Lady  Mdchante  jumped  up 
and  opened  the  door,  about  to  call  them  back,  but  Mrs. 
Van  Dream  pulled  her  down. 

When  they  returned,  Smagg  strutted.  His  eyes  were 
light  and  his  spirit  was  strong.  In  his  mouth  was  a  smack 
of  beer  —  the  first  he  had  tasted  since  he  had  sold  his  soul 
into  slavery.  Hilariously  he  hopped  upon  the  seat  and  bade 
the  chauffeur  chase  himself.  On  they  sped  along  the  Old 


NEW   WORLDS   FOR    OLD 


Boston  Road,  while  Smagg  laughed  and  sang  aloud  and  told 
infamous  tales  to  the  descendant  of  the  Pilgrims. 

The  road  was  narrow  and  wound  in  sharp  curves  up 
and  down  hill.  Smagg  lurched  from  side  to  side,  not  drunk, 
but  exhilarated.  That  touch  of  hops  was  working  in  him 
mysteriously.  The  sight  of  his  dirty  hands  had  begun  to 
call  up  memories  of  freedom,  careless  joyance.  The  very 
smears  on  his  clothes  thrilled  him  with  forgotten  delights. 
He  had  sweated  with  his  labor,  the  first  manual  work  he 
had  done  for  long,  and  now  the  cool  breeze  caressed  his 
damp  temples.  He  turned  round  and  gazed  in  through  the 
plate  glass  window  at  Lady  Mechante  with  a  yellow  glow 
in  his  eyes  like  a  tiger's.  The  car  suddenly  came  to  a  stop 
and  Smagg  looked  round. 

They  were  at  the  bottom  of  a  sharp  curving  rise  in  the 
narrow  road,  and  a  hundred  feet  ahead  he  saw  a  coal  wagon 
with  one  hind  wheel  off,  overturned  on  the  road.  Its  cargo 
had  escaped  in  a  huge  pile  that  entirely  filled  the  thorough 
fare.  With  such  narrow  passage  and  the  up  grade,  it  was 
impossible  to  pass.  The  only  way  round,  the  chauffeur 
informed  him,  had  diverged  ten  miles  behind  them.  What 
was  to  be  done  ? 

Haulick  Smagg  was  equal  to  the  emergency.  He  left 
the  car  and  strode  up  to  the  driver,  who  was  sitting  in  the 
shade  of  the  wagon  waiting  for  reinforcements. 

"  Got  a  shovel  ?  "  said  Smagg. 

"  I  got  a  shovel  all  right.      What  d'  ye  want  with  it  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  move  this  coal,"  said   Smagg. 

"  Go  on,  you    can't   shovel   coal  !  "   the   driver  mocked. 

"  You  're   nothing   but   a   gentleman  !  " 

u  A  what  ?  "  said  Smagg. 

"A  gent —          The  driver  got  no  further,   for  Smagg's 

[387] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


heavy  hand  had  closed  his  mouth.  The  driver  got  up 
as  far  as  his  knees,  but  was  promptly  knocked  down 
again. 

Smagg  seized  a  shovel,  looked  it  over  carefully,  hefted 
it  with  delicate  appreciation,  then  brandished  it  aloft  like  a 
battle-axe  rescued  from  his  grandsire's  tomb.  He  thrust  it 
at  the  hillside  as  if  he  would  move  the  mountain;  he 
chopped  out  a  piece  of  cloud  from  the  sky  and  tossed  it 
over  his  shoulder  into  the  Atlantic,  miles  away.  Then,  in 
a  Berserk  fury,  he  attacked  the  coal. 

The  yellow  car  drew  stealthily  and  cautiously  up  to 
watch  his  labor. 

The  lumps  flew  steadily  from  his  shovel  in  a  sparkling 
cascade.  He  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  pile,  knee  deep,  and 
his  weapon  scooped  and  thrust  with  lightning-like  regularity. 
He  was  like  a  human  engine,  revolving  at  the  rate  of  a  hun 
dred  strokes  a  minute.  Occasionally,  in  the  wantonness  of 
his  joy,  he  would  hurl  a  shovelful  high  over  his  head,  or 
toward  the  Van  Dreams'  car.  He  began  to  wallow  to  right 
and  left, ploughing  furrows  in  the  anthracite.  He  had  stripped 
off  his  coat  at  the  beginning,  and  soon  he  tore  off  his  vest, 
plucked  out  a  striped  Madras  shirt  and  threw  it  away.  In 
short-sleeved  undershirt  at  last,  and  with  his  pink  satin 
suspenders  knotted  round  his  waist  for  a  belt,  he  rested  for 
a  moment  and  looked  about  him  in  ecstasy. 

Lady  Mechante  had  already  left  the  car  and  stood  watch 
ing  him,  fascinated.  Dolly  stood  on  the  running  board,  the 
tail  of  her  skirt  held  firmly  by  Mamma  Van  Dream,  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  laborer.  Wrestling  Brewster  Bradford, 
in  his  leathern  coat,  gazed  impassively  at  the  exhibition. 

The  pile  was  lowered  to  half  its  height  now,  and  a  dusty 
smoke  enveloped  the  heroic  figure.  His  neck  and  head 

[388] 


NEW   WORLDS    FOR    OLD 


and  arms  were  bathed  with  sweat.  It  had  caught  the 
drifting  particles  and  colored  him  with  a  light  coat  of 
black.  From  his  hands  to  his  elbows  he  was  like  a  negro. 
He  went  to  work  still  more  savagely.  The  beer  sang  in 
his  veins.  It  felt  good  to  sweat.  The  lust  for  labor  be 
came  a  passion.  He  looked  neither  to  right  nor  left,  only 
at  the  diminishing  talus  beneath  his  feet.  He  was  at  home 
again,  he  who  had  sold  this  precious,  grimy  birthright  for  a 
mess  of  verbiage. 

Dolly  Van  Dream  could  stand  it  no  longer.  With  a 
wrench  she  tore  herself  free,  leaving  a  handful  of  ecru 
Valenciennes  in  old  lady  Van  Dream's  clutch,  and  sprang 
forward  to  the  bottom  of  the  heap  of  coal.  In  her  breath, 
also,  something  new  fluttered.  There  was  a  wild  excite 
ment  there,  conjured  by  the  strangeness  of  the  sight. 

She  had  never  seen  a  man  work  before  —  at  least,  never  a 
man  she  had  known  —  and  to  see  Smagg's  titanic  toil  moved 
her  potently.  More  than  this,  the  pristine  power  of  the 
primitive  appealed  to  her  soul.  The  immemorial  desire  for 
man's  mastery  agitated  her  woman's  heart.  Primordial  and 
paramount,  in  this  magnificent  exhibition  of  physical  en 
deavor,  she  perceived  Smagg  as  a  man,  a  mate,  a  master,  a 
demigod.  With  a  wild,  stifled  cry  on  her  lips,  she  waded 
up  through  the  lumps  that  shifted  and  slid  beneath  her  feet, 
reached  him  and  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

"  Haulick,"  she  sobbed,  "you  are  magnificent!  I  love 
you  !  I  accept  you  !  I  '11  give  you  your  answer  now  !  " 
And  she  held  her  lips  to  his. 

With  a  consummate  Delancey  Street  oath,  he  hurled  her 
to  the  bottom  of  the  pile.  Then  he  shook  his  fist  over 
her  prostrate  form. 

"  Accept  me,  do  you  ?  "   he  thundered.     "  I  would  n't 

[389] 


LADT   MECHANTE 


marry  you,  you  broom-haired  doll,  for  a  ton  of  coal  !  I  'm 
through  with  yer,  an'  yer  whole  crowd  !  The  whole  thing  's 
a  sham  from  top  to  bottom.  There  ain't  a  real  man  or  a 
real  woman  north  of  Fourteenth  Street !  I  've  had  enough 
of  society ;  I  'm  on  to  it  now  !  You  're  all  doing  what 
you  don't  want  to  do,  an'  thinking  what  you  're  told  to  think, 
an'  saying  what  the  rest  say,  an'  paying  four  times  what 
everything's  worth  to  make  a  show.  What  I  want  is  men 
and  women  with  blood  in  their  necks  !  When  I  want  a 
wife,  I  '11  get  somethin'  beside  a  corset  and  a  lot  of  false 
hair  and  a  visiting-card." 

He  turned  his  head  slowly  and  beheld  Lady  Me'chante,  who 
stood  in  the  posture  of  an  attendant  angel,  but  with  an 
amiable  devil  looking  out  of  her  eyes.  Her  hand  was  slightly 
outstretched,  the  fingers  tentatively  extended  as  if  awaiting 
him.  Fragile  and  dainty  and  delicate  as  she  was,  one  could 
perceive  that  her  soul  was  as  tense  as  a  tightly  coiled  spring. 
She  was  quiet,  with  the  quiet  of  a  rapidly  revolving  wheel. 
One  could  almost  see  her  aura,  faintly  luminous,  enshroud 
ing  her.  For  a  moment  she  stood  there,  a  living  miracle 
of  loveliness  and  grace  ;  then  she  reached  forth  her  hand  and 
she  spoke,  scarcely  above  her  breath : 

"  Haulick  Smagg,  —  come  !      I  want  you  !  " 

He  waded  to  her  and  put  his  arm  about  her  waist. 

"  I  know  !  "  she  said.  "  I  have  dwelt  in  your  world,  too. 
You  have  proved  yourself  and  you  are  mine.  Come,  and 
let  me  come  with  you,  back  to  freedom,  back  to  truth,  back 
to  reality,  back  to  Delancey  Street  and  the  Submerged 
Tenth."  She  drew  a  lace  pocket  handkerchief  from  her 
purse,  wiped  off  his  lips,  and  kissed  him. 

Dolly  Van  Dream  had  risen  to  her  feet  and  stood 
streaked  from  chin  to  toe  with  coal  dust.  Wrestling 

[  39°] 


LADY   MECHANTE 


Brewster  Bradford  came  running  up  to  help  her.  As  she 
turned  to  him,  her  eye  caught  sight  of  a  red  and  blue  button 
in  his  buttonhole. 

"  The  Loyal  Legion,"  she  gasped. 

He  tore  off  his  leather  coat,  unbuttoned  his  jacket,  and 
smiled.  There  was  an  eagle  pendant  on  the  end  of  his 
watch  chain. 

"  My  God !  The  Society  of  the  Cincinnati  !  Is  it 
possible  that  you  are  a  gentleman  ?  Oh,  take  me  away 
from  this  monster  !  " 

He  drew  her  gently  away  from  the  wreck,  hurried  her 
into  the  limousine,  jumped  to  his  seat,  and  started  the  ma 
chinery.  The  car  plunged  forward.  The  exhaust  barked 
like  musketry,  and  with  a  fierce  burst  of  speed  the  vehicle 
jumped  at  the  coal  pile,  crushed  through  it,  and  swept  up  the 
hill  out  of  sight. 

u  Now  that  we  are  alone,"  said  Lady  Mechante,  "  you 
may  kiss  me.  Kiss  me  like  a  cave  man,  Haulick,  if  you 
will !  Kiss  me  as  I  've  never  been  kissed  before,  then 
take  me  by  the  hair  of  my  head  and  drag  me  into  your 
cave  !  " 


When  it  was  over,  Haulick  Smagg  looked  about  and  per 
ceived  two  horses,  black  Percherons,  tethered  to  a  tree. 
He  walked  over  to  them,  drawing  a  knife  from  his  pocket 
as  he  went. 

Lady  Mechante  looked  up  the  hill-  toward  the  cloud  of 
dust,  raised  by  the  flying  wheels  of  the  Van  Dreams' 
limousine.  Softly  she  spoke  to  herself,  as  the  cloud  thinned 
and  floated  away  into  space : 

[392] 


NEW    WORLDS    FOR    OLD 


"From  the  partial  impact  of  two  dead  stars  new  worlds 
are  born ! " 

Haulick  Smagg  came  forward,  sitting  his  ponderous  black 
Percheron.  Gently  he  stooped  ;  lightly  he  lifted  her  to  a 
seat  in  front  of  him.  Then  he  dug  his  heels  into  the 
horse's  flanks. 


[393] 


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